Winter & Hawk
by Ardna
Summary: Loki has been abducted, and all of the signs point to Clint Barton and SHIELD. But things are not as they seem: something very old and very dark is at work, tampering with all the strings. With The Avengers again a divided team and the Storybrookers trapped where they are, can Loki ever be found? The odds are not in Laufeyson's favor. 2nd part of the Loki of Storybrooke series.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's**** notes:** _asfdkjalkjsdadsa I'M HERE EVERYBODY YAY

Basically, today's my birthday (17?! Non-heinous!), and I wanted to give youguys something. So here's the first chapter of _Winter & Hawk, _just a little ahead of schedule. Here's to hoping continuation will not be long in coming! :)

I don't know if I should provide warning about this or something, but there's a character who is in Marvel comics but not the MCU that I am using in this fic, and I will be interpreting her a little... differently. You'll see what I mean.

And with that, let us be off!

_**Warnings: **_Mention of nightmares.

* * *

Loki was alone. It was a status he was fast becoming used to, regardless of whether he liked it or not. The Æsir prince was at one of the many ponds in the tremendous gardens that surrounded Asgard's palace, hurling rocks to disrupt the surface. It was a very Thor thing to do, Loki thought, but he was frustrated. The young Asgardian scowled as he thought of the outrageous situation he was being forced into: a new nursemaid.

A _nursemaid!_ Loki was nearly seventy years old, he wasn't a babe-in-arms! He had only tolerated the last nursemaid because she was supposed to be just that—the last. But now a new one was coming, yet another to Loki's lengthy list, and it would take him at least a week to drive her away. Because he would drive her away. He wasn't simply going to take this, not again.

Thor hadn't had a nursemaid since he was sixty. Would their parents ever let Loki grow up?

Another rock broke through the pond's normally tranquil surface. Loki hadn't thrown it. He turned and suspiciously regarded the strange woman who had cast the stone. She was easily taller than his mother, her hair a similar dark gold and pulled into a thick braid. She wore a cream-colored dress that was elegant but simple, severely out of place in an environment like the palace.

The woman crouched down on the path and selected several stones. "Tossing rocks, I see," she said, her tones friendly. Not condescending or manipulative or cross. Just friendly. Loki thought it a very strange thing. "I've spent many an hour doing that myself, back home. Odd, how a stone forced to submerge can be so therapeutic, but it does calm the nerves."

Loki said nothing, watching the woman with a hint of curiosity now. She certainly wasn't from anywhere he had been on Asgard—her accent was different, and her manner even more so. She spoke to him as though he was an equal, neither above nor below her. It was treatment that Loki was not accustomed to. Was it possible that she didn't know he was a prince? But if that were the case, then she would have treated him with condescension. Loki continued to puzzle.

The woman stood up and approached the lad, offering him the opportunity to select from her collection of rocks. They were good ones. Loki had appreciation for someone with a keen eye. They stood alongside and each threw a stone.

The stranger was right: it was therapeutic. But Loki was still angry.

"I take it I'm the cause of your frustration," the woman said mildly. She spun a rounded pebble in his fingers and tossed, getting five skips before it made it to the other side.

Loki had no idea that a rock could skip across water. But what the woman had just said was intriguing as well. He looked up at her. "What makes you believe so?" he inquired.

The stranger smiled, and it seemed oddly sympathetic to Loki. "You are nearly seventy years old, Prince Loki, and you are getting a new nursemaid. It infuriates you to be treated like such a child, a weakling, but there is truly nothing you can do about it."

_Weakling._ This woman had known Loki for less than five minutes, and already she placed her finger on the very thing that angered Loki the most, and he tried with all his frail might to deny. "And what does this have to do with you?" he demanded, his tones biting. Somehow this woman had gotten his guard down, and she said hurt more than he wanted to admit.

The stranger smiled again, and Loki saw something bright in her eyes. Was this the mischief people so often said they saw in him? What was it doing in her? "Because I am that nursemaid," the woman explained. "As follows, you are angry with me." She bowed deeply, although the formality of it was somewhat spoiled by the broad smile exposing her teeth. "Sigyn of Vanaheim, Prince Loki. Officially, you are my charge, but I'd prefer that we be friends."

"_I'd_ prefer that you went back to Vanaheim and stayed there," Loki answered with brash hostility. He turned sharply and walked away. Not as if she could make him stop—no one was ever so bold with a prince on their first day.

Two arms encircled his chest and legs, respectively, and Loki was hoisted into the air. He cried out an indignant protest, and Sigyn paid him no mind. The Vanir turned back around and casually chucked Loki into the pond. He performed a near-complete, wholly accidental somersault before hitting the water most noisily. Sigyn waded in to meet him, laughing merrily. After a point she had to swim.

Loki resurfaced, spluttering in a panic before going down again. For a moment he thought he was going to drown, that Sigyn was not a nursemaid but in fact an assassin. Then arms encircled him once more and he was pulled up, his head breaking through the water to reach ever-blessed air.

"Don't cling so, Prince Loki, or you'll bring us both down," Sigyn said, sounding far too calm about things. Loki forced himself to relax. It was one of the few things he was any good at. "Don't know how to swim yet, eh? That must be amended, and quickly too," Sigyn decided. "My son was a fish by the time he was fifty. Now the trouble is getting him _out_ of the water."

"You're swimming in a dress," Loki realized.

"My home was an island in the middle of Vanaheim's deepest ocean. I can swim in a suit of armor if I want to."

"That is reassuring," Loki stated, bobbing in the water with only Sigyn to keep him up. It wasn't so frightening now that he had something solid to hold on to. "Especially if you throwing me into bodies of water is going to be a habit of yours."

Sigyn laughed. "It seems there is something of a trickster in both of us, Prince Loki," she remarked. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

* * *

The room was peaceful. Barely the first hints of dawn had stretched into the sky, deep blue preparing for a transformation into spectacular shades of orange and pink. Loki slept his side, one hand tucked under his pillow while the other was held close to his chest. His face was taut, eyes darting under closed lids as he dreamed. All was not well.

The door opened and a boy poked his head into the room. Unaware of Loki's distressed, he grinned as he hollered: "GOOD MORNING, MR. HEMMING!"

Loki jerked awake in a state of alarm, his right hand emerging from under the pillow with a knife's hilt clutched in its fingers. He regained awareness of his surroundings and forced himself to relax. He had always been good at forcing himself to relax.

He scowled at the hooting child in his bedroom. He had reached the age of ten years approximately two weeks ago, and while time lent some people solemnity… well, for this boy, it was entirely another case.

"Matthew Frog, if you persist in awakening me in such a manner, I'm going to impale you one of these days!" Loki snapped.

"You'll have to hit me first," Matthew returned cockily. He smirked. "A little twitchy this morning, are we?"

Loki stared at him for a moment. "I'm going back to sleep," he declared flatly, and disappeared under the covers. Matthew folded his arms and directed an exasperated look at the lump of sheets and former supervillain.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Hemming. You don't want to be late for breakfast! I have to leave for school soon."

A hand forced its way out from under the blankets and waved. "Then go."

Matthew pouted. "You're such a jerk," he grumbled.

A chortle from underneath the blankets. "Balder could have told you that."

"I don't really like hanging around Mr. Balder," Matthew admitted. He shrugged. "I mean, he's a pretty cool dude, but he gets so smoochy with his wife and it's just _blech._" He stared at the blankets for a moment longer, then sighed wistfully. "Oh well, I guess the pleasure of your company was too much to hope for."

Loki sat up. He and Matthew stared at each other. "You are beginning to sound far too much like me, young man," Loki said. If he was bothered by the fact, he hid it remarkably well.

"Does this mean you're coming?" Matthew grinned.

Loki sighed. "Yes, I'm coming, just give me a moment to get dressed."

"Couldn't you just come down in your PJs?" Matthew questioned. "I mean, I'm the one who has to hightail it. And everybody already knows you're eccentric, so no worries there."

Loki had swung his legs over the side of the bed and was about to stand up, but instead he turned his head to give Matthew an incredulous look. "People think I'm eccentric?"

"Outer-space ex-sorcerer alien god prince who is currently the town librarian, staying at the local inn until his living quarters are built _into_ the library," Matthew rattled off without taking a breath. "Not to mention the odd sense of style, tats, and earrings. Yeah, people think you're eccentric."

"Oh," said Loki. He shrugged, rising to his feet. "Figures." He leaned over to straighten the sheets across his bed, then took a moment glance over Matthew's way. "You're not in uniform, Matthew."

"I know, I know, I just need to change my shirt," Matthew said impatiently. "See you in a minute!" He slipped back out the door, closing it to rush to his own room, only one door over.

Loki made the bed in short order, lowering the blinds over the two windows in his room before tossing his pajama top onto the bed. He rifled through his shirts for something to his tastes, pausing when he noticed that he wasn't sensing the hint of morning chill that he usually did. In fact, he felt uncomfortably warm.

The librarian pressed a hand against the back of his neck, frowning as his fingers detected the heat radiating off of his skin. He couldn't be getting a summer fever already, it was still April. Unless it was something else? He had probably just been wrapped up in one blanket too many.

Loki decided not to fret over it. He turned his attention back to getting his attire together, and selected more casual fare. A dark green T-shirt was layered over a long-sleeved white one, and navy blue jeans were chosen. He was reaching for his socks when Matthew burst in and dragged him downstairs. It was a good thing the inn and the diner were in the same building, otherwise he would have been traipsing the streets in his bare feet.

He managed to wriggle his hand free by the time they reached the diner section of the building. It was mostly empty—during the week, people preferred to come for lunch and dinner rather than breakfast. Saturdays and Sundays always saw a boost in customers, however. Loki usually made a new acquaintance or two over the weekends simply by coming down to breakfast.

Right now, though, it was quiet. Only four other people aside from Matthew and Loki were present. Five, if you counted the woman who had just emerged from the kitchen and was now wiping down the counter. Ruby's brow was deeply furrowed, a troubled look on her features. She spotted the pair coming in and tossed them a grin. It turned slightly teasing when it reached Loki. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

"What I _wouldn't_ give for a hundred year nap," Loki groused. He shot Matthew a sullen look, which the boy cheerfully ignored and he bounced on his way over to Ruby, starting a round of chatter with the waitress.

Loki could get up as early as the next person—earlier, if he wanted to—but he preferred his mornings quiet and peaceful. Matthew, on the other hand… well, he was more towards the Thor end of the spectrum. He greeted the day with noisy enthusiasm. Provided the day was one he was looking forward to. If not? Then Loki was left with the task of hauling the boy out of bed and into school.

Which prompted the thought: what _did_ have Matthew up so perkily this morning?

The lad had jumped up on one of the stools in front of the counter. Most times he didn't even bother with a menu anymore. "Fried eggs, please! Two of 'em," he chirped. Looking over at Loki, he added, "It's a fried eggs kind of day."

"For you, perhaps," Loki replied, lifting an eyebrow. "As for me, oatmeal sounds rather appetizing this morning." He smiled at Ruby. "With extra sunflower seeds, if you please. And of course, our usual breakfast drinks."

"Caffeinated tea and orange juice," Ruby nodded. "And do you want your tea steaming or iced?"

"Steaming," Loki answered quickly. This prompted an odd look from Ruby, which Loki pretended he did not see. She finished jotting down his and Matthew's orders, then disappeared back into the kitchen. Loki watched her go, wondering why she had seemed so anxious when he and Matthew had first come in.

"Oh, Mr. Hemming," Matthew said, drawing the librarian's attention away from Ruby. "Jackson was asking if I could come over to his place after school and stay the night."

"So the boy already has a house of his own, does he?" Loki queried, coming closer and seating himself on the stool next to Matthew's. He settled his forearms on the counter, enjoying the cool feel through the sleeves of his shirt.

Matthew snorted. "No," he said, a laugh woven through the word. "He's living with Miss Sandy—Tinkerbell. I don't think you've met her yet, but she's unorthodox, like you are."

"I have not met this Miss Sandy, though I am already beginning to like the sound of her," Loki remarked, nodding his approval. "Yes, Matthew, you may spend the night. But be sure to return by two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. There's someone I would like you to meet as well."

Matthew lowered his arms from where they had previously been punching the air in triumph. "That girl you've been visiting at the hospital?"

"Her name is Madge."

"Right." Matthew shrank in his seat. "You know I don't like hospitals, Mr. Hemming," he reminded his friend in a low voice. He shuddered. "The smell, the whole feel of the place…"

"I wouldn't ask you to come if I didn't think the ordeal would be worth it," Loki assured the boy. "Madge has been wanting to meet you for some time. You'd like her, Matthew. The fact that she suffers from illness does not make her any less fierce than you."

"If you say so," Matthew muttered doubtfully. He had set his arms on the counter and was now slumped over them, hiding his frown without much effectiveness. Loki resisted the inclination to smirk.

"I do say so."

Ruby returned from the kitchen, bearing Loki's and Matthew's drinks. Again, Loki noticed her unease whenever she thought no one was looking. "Hey, what's with the Mr. Sulk act going down here?" she asked upon seeing Matthew's less-than-ecstatic demeanor. "Birds could use that lip for a perch."

"I don't like hospitals," Matthew complained, perhaps hoping that Ruby would take his side. "And Mr. Hemming wants to take me to one."

"I know what you mean," Ruby said as she nodded understanding. "The smell, the whole feel of the place…" Matthew perked up, seeing that he had someone to back him up. Loki felt a mild case of outrage coming on. It was vexing when he was ganged up on.

"But I still go," Ruby continued. Both males on the other side of the counter gave her surprised looks. "Patients do get lonely, Matthew. And if we don't like in there, you can only imagine what it's like for the people who have no choice but to stay."

Matthew hung his head, shamed. Brown fingers drummed on the side of the glass filled with orange juice. "Okay, so I'll go," he muttered his acquiesce. He looked back up. "But I don't have to like it, do I?"

"No," Loki promised him. "Although, you may surprise yourself." He smiled lightly before blowing on his tea to cool it. The librarian took a tentative sip and then grimaced. "Ah, that's hot."

"No worries, you don't have to like it," Matthew grinned. "Although, you may surprise yourself."

Loki glared, but Matthew and Ruby only sniggered. Others, perhaps, would have been cowed, but to these two he was just a friend. Ruby had to depart in order to tend to another customer, leaving Loki and Matthew alone in each other's company. Neither felt particularly talkative at the moment, content to sit beside one another in silence. Matthew sipped at his orange juice, occasionally smiling to himself.

Loki was still surprised that he had grown to be so comfortable here in Storybrooke. He couldn't recall being so at ease anywhere else, except for Asgard. Well, Asgard in the early days. Sometime around his third century the place had stopped feeling so much like home. And Storybrooke didn't feel so much like home, either, but the people—Matthew, Ruby, Lillian, and others—yes, it was the people who made it feel like home.

Of course, not everyone in Storybrooke liked him. In fact, most of the townspeople were understandably wary. But Loki didn't need everyone. Just the few who mattered.

Even now, Loki couldn't comprehend why Thor had allowed him to stay here on Midgard, rather than take him back to prison on Asgard, as he should have done. Loki was grateful, of course, very grateful, but confused. Everything indicated that he ought to have been taken back to face his punishment; though if any of his friends here heard him say as much, there would be fierce protest.

It was such fierce protest that had kept Loki here in the first place. Thor had seemed so proud in that moment, realizing that his little brother had found people to love who would love him in return. Friends who would stand by his side, whether he willed it or not. And that was what had decided it in the end.

Still, there were times that Loki felt guilty. Many times. That he should be here, starting a new and happy life, while there were yet hundreds of families in mourning, families that _he_ had broken… it wasn't right. Something had to be done about it, but Loki didn't know what. He could exactly travel to the lands of the dead and bring them all back. That would be impossible, even if he did possess his magic.

Which he did not. Thanks to the wicked imp, Rumplestiltskin, and a deal with the Lady Sif, Loki's magic was permanently bound. If he so much as tried to tap into it, the results would be fatal. _Accursed_ Rumplestiltskin! He and Loki had been friends once.

"Hello, Earth to Mr. Hemming! Come in, Mr. Hemming!" Loki twitched as Matthew waved a hand in front of his face. Mr. Hemming, Tom, those were names he responded to now. It was strange how they felt so natural. Matthew gave him a look. "You were staring off into Broody Space again."

"Apologies," Loki murmured, and then summoned a smile. "So, was there something you wanted to tell me, or is it simply the purpose of your life to forever distract me?"

"Nah, I've got better things to do," Matthew sniffed, feigning superiority. His fingers drummed the side of his glass again, now half empty, and his smile faded. Loki nudged him.

"What was that you were saying about Broody Space?" he asked quietly. His gaze softened, and he set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Something is wrong, Matthew. You may as well tell me what."

"I-I was just thinking," Matthew stammered, an unusual trait for him to display. His voice was kept at a low mumble. Clearly he didn't want anyone else to hear what he was about to say. "You, um, you know about the nightmares I've been having."

Loki's eyebrows lowered, and he nodded confirmation. Since Matthew was looking away, he didn't see Loki's fingers curl into fists underneath the counter. "They came again last night?" the librarian asked.

"No, they didn't come at all," Matthew replied, sounding equally confused and troubled. "But no dreams is better than bad dreams, right?"

Loki didn't give an answer, since he didn't know. Matthew slumped over the counter again, slowly turning the partially-drunk glass of orange juice on the counter. Loki rubbed his shoulder blade, hoping it would soothe.

The Jotun frowned, his features darkening with anger. Although it was more than three weeks ago that he had rescued Matthew from the abusive father the Curse had bestowed him with, the effects of that horrid time still lingered.

Matthew suffered from night terrors. Often he awoke in the middle of the night, just to stagger to the bathroom and retch. At times, his thrashing was too violent for Loki to hold him without causing damage. And when it came to night terrors, Loki wasn't much better. He had simply learned to keep still.

It wasn't _right_ for a child to be haunted like this. Several times Loki had caught sight of Mr. Frog, and it was only the knowledge that Matthew somehow still held love for the man—if he could truly be called as such—that kept Loki from flaying the life out of him. Frog kept his distance, though, and Loki preferred it just that way.

Matthew's nose twitched, and he quickly sat up, an eager smile appearing right where it belonged. In this moment, he really did look like a ten-year-old. "Food's coming!" he exclaimed.

"Sometimes I think your nose is almost as good as mine," Ruby said jokingly. There was no doubt that she had noticed Loki and Matthew's melancholy moods from a moment before, but she didn't comment on them. Loki was grateful.

Matthew accepted his fried eggs and proceeded to empty the contents of a ketchup bottle. Matthew was very enthusiastic about his ketchup. Loki was not. He took his bowl of oatmeal with thanks as well, noting that he had the extra sunflower seeds he requested.

"So, Tom, how's work on the library going?" Ruby asked.

Loki perked up. The library was the place he had called home for quite some time now, and after a mysterious donation (Loki was still trying to figure out who _H_ was), remodeling had become possible, as well as the purchase of the entire building. The upper floors were being repaired, as well as the elevator, and more books were going to be bought. Loki was having living quarters installed on the second floor for himself and Matthew.

It was exciting, to say the least. He still was astonished when he realized that he was _the_ librarian now, and not the assistant he had been for thirteen years—at least, thirteen years according to the Curse. Lillian Williams, the town's former librarian, had stepped down from her position three weeks ago and passed it onto Loki. He had big shoes to fill in, and hoped he wouldn't disappoint.

"The construction crew finished work on the first floor just yesterday," Loki told Ruby. "All that remains to be done is the application of paint and carpets, and then of course moving the bookcases and books back in. The living quarters on the second floor are nearing completion—perhaps two or three more weeks? I am not familiar with the construction process, so I shall have to ask."

"What all are you going to have up there?" Ruby queried. Her head turned as a new customer entered, but the second waitress, Cassie, went to take care of them instead.

"Bedrooms for myself and Matthew, of course, along with a spare," Loki started. "There shall be a study with a personal library, a conjoined kitchen and dining room, a pantry, the laundry room, and of course the parlor. Living room, I mean."

"I'm still trying to talk him into a TV," Matthew added. Ruby gave him a thumbs-up of approval, and Loki shook his head in amusement.

"Additional storage for extra books or books in need of repair will also be on the second floor," he continued. "Also, my woodshop shall be moved up. This still leaves us with a fair bit of extra space, so in the possibility that Peter Pan and his crew show up, I'll have sufficient room."

"Excellent thinking," Ruby said appreciatively.

Matthew opened his mouth to add something more, but Loki had glanced down at his watch and interrupted him. "Bus arrives in fifteen minutes."

Matthew attacked his breakfast with gusto. Ketchupy gusto. Ruby was drawn away again to attend to business, and shortly after Matthew grabbed his backpack of school things and flew out the door. Loki chuckled and followed, calling at him to wait. The boy stopped, hopping impatiently.

"Your shirt's untucked, and the purpose of a jacket is to button it," Loki said as he straightened out the boy's appearance. He knew his efforts would have proved in vain by the end of the school day, but he still liked to tidy Matthew up on occasion.

Matthew giggled as Loki straightened his tie. "Who are you, my mom?" he teased. He looped his arms through the straps of his backpack, moving his tie out of alignment again. Loki corrected it for the third time.

"I wouldn't know the least about mothering," Loki replied, and ruffled Matthew's hair fondly.

"I hope Paige is back," Matthew mused. "She knows all kinds of forest stuff, see, but she hasn't shown up to school for a few days. I think Henry might know something about it, I'll have to ask him. Oh, I forgot to grab my stuff for spending the night at Jackson's—"

"Matthew."

"Yeah?"

"I'll bring you your things after school. Right now, you're running late."

"Aw _man!_" Matthew spun and ran off in the direction of the bus stop. Loki smiled, watching until the boy had passed from sight. Not because he thought Matthew couldn't take care of himself, but simply because he liked to.

Once the lad had raced out of view, Loki turned and went back into the diner, intending to head upstairs and take a shower before leaving to run errands and visit a few people. On his way in, he stepped aside to allow David Nolan to pass him.

Loki frowned. Nolan didn't often come to the diner at this time of day, much less on a Friday. Something had to be up. Nolan went to the back of the diner and after a moment, Loki followed. He stayed back where he couldn't be seen, listening.

"Know anybody who might want thirty-eight lasagnas?" Ruby was asking. Balder came to Loki's mind—his little brother had developed a deep love for Granny's lasagna.

"I'm sorry, what?" There was Nolan, and he seemed bewildered.

"I know," Granny replied, and chuckled. "Nobody would believe it if you told them my lasagnas were frozen."

Balder was going to have a crisis.

"No," Nolan said impatiently. "Why are you building a cage?"

Why indeed? Loki's brow furrowed a moment before the obvious occurred to him.

"Tonight's the first full moon since the Curse broke," Ruby explained. "It's the first night of Wolfstime."

There was a pause as Nolan realized the implications. "That explains why you seemed to be so tense earlier," Loki said, abandoning his hiding place to step into the light. He was surprised that Ruby hadn't scented him—likely due to her anxiety—but judging from the expression on Granny's face, his presence hadn't been so unknown as he would have thought.

Nolan turned sharply as Loki approached and took several steps back. Though he and the leadership of the town had decided to allow Loki to stay, it was clear that as far as the prince was concerned, Loki was treading on thin ice.

"So you noticed that," Ruby said. She didn't seem surprised.

"I notice a lot of things," Loki replied. He and Granny leveled looks at one another. Neither had quite decided what they thought of the other yet. "Ruby, I wouldn't worry about this as much as you are," Loki advised. "Obviously, you have been aware of your wolf side more than long enough to have mastered it."

"Yes, but thanks to the Curse, I haven't turned in twenty-eight years," Ruby pointed out "I might be rusty." She looked at Nolan her expression haunted. "I can't let what happened last time—what happened to Peter—happen to anyone else."

Loki didn't know the story behind Peter, but it wasn't that hard to guess. Werewolves were never without a bloody past.

"What about your red hood?" Nolan asked. "That could keep you from turning."

"If I had it," Ruby answered. She sighed. "I've looked everywhere. I even went to Gold. It's not in town. I don't think it came over with the Curse."

An interesting presumption, Loki thought. But Rumplestiltskin was too wary a creature to risk an out-of-control werewolf, and Regina seemed to be cut from a similar cloth. But airing those thoughts now likely would prove of little benefit.

"I see," the former sorcerer nodded. He paused, considering other options. "Try drinking chamomile tea, as much as you can stomach," he suggested. "It will aid in soothing the nerves before transformation."

Ruby gave him a curious look. "You talk like you know quite a bit about werewolves," she observed. "Have you met others before me?"

"I have traveled extensively over the centuries," Loki answered vaguely. "But do try the tea, Ruby. It shall help." With that, he turned away and left the room, but he remained within earshot.

"Ruby, I know you. I trust you," Nolan said. His voice was strong with sincerity. "Snow trusts you. Wolfstime or not, you won't hurt anyone tonight."

"Maybe," Ruby answered doubtfully. Her tones were weary, and afraid. "But I can't afford to take any chances."

It saddened Loki to hear one so young sound so old, and worn. He wished that he had met Ruby sooner, before… but what was done was done. Loki turned away and finally went upstairs. In short order he had taken care of his shower and dressed himself in more formal attire. The Asgardian directed his steps to the library.

* * *

Matthew came flying onto the bus—in fact, he almost crashed right into the driver. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, backing away. "I didn't want to be late."

"Try getting up a little earlier," the bus driver suggested wryly.

Matthew pushed his way through the crowded bus, finding an empty seat in an unfavorable location. Darn. The freak storm from a few weeks earlier had damaged some of the school's buses, and they didn't have enough money to buy more. So, Matthew was stuck with the bad seat on the bus for who knew how long.

The shocks of the bus were nearly worn completely through, and Matthew felt every ridge and bump in the road for the next fifteen minutes. It was a relief to finally reach the school and make it to where he could stand on his own two feet. The boy paused for a moment and watched the swarm of other elementary schoolers, friends joining together in clusters of varying size.

It was strange to see how many friendships had changed since the breaking of the Curse, and how many had not. The adults, Matthew found, were often hesitant to ask each other about their old lives, in lands where magic and chaos ruled. He'd heard, too, that they'd tell their children not to ask either, it being a rude thing or some such.

But kids are ever so different from adults, and where the grownups had wary restraint, the children were all open curiosity. This was the funnest, most exciting thing to have ever happened to them! You were in _that_ story? Your parents were _those_ people? Just yesterday, Matthew had run into Ricardo, the son of King Prigio. And the day before, it had been discovered that their history teacher was none other than the Puck of whom Shakespeare wrote. Now no one knew if they were being taught history or fanciful tales.

School had become so much better. It was still humdrum, to be sure, but it was better. Matthew stayed near the parking lot, waiting, and then turned with a smile as he heard the familiar growl of Miss Sandy's motorcycle. It pulled up to the curb and the woman cut the ignition. Her passenger hopped off the back and pulled his helmet off, his orange hair mussed in every direction.

From the way he sprang about, one would think that Jackson Young belonged anywhere but on the ground, and they would be right. The boy was none other than Peter Pan, and he had a mischievous streak so wide, the Grand Canyon seemed thin.

"Hey, Mowg!" he shouted, and dropped his helmet to nearly bowl Matthew over with a hug. "How's it going?"

"I'm running late, Peter," Miss Sandy interrupted the boys, tossing Jackson a couple of packs. "Here's your stuff, bud. I'll be shoving off now. Oh, and—"

"Don't stage any revolts," Jackson finished with a laugh, and he and Miss Sandy exchanged good-natured grins. "You have my word, Tink. See ya later!"

"Later, Peter."

Miss Sandy pulled back from the curb and drove away. Jackson slung one pack across his shoulders and held onto the other as he picked up his helmet.

"What's in the other pack?" Matthew asked.

"Motorcycle gear, for you, since Tink doesn't own a car," Jackson explained. "And speaking of motorcycle gear, I am roasting in all of this. Mind holding onto the other pack for me while I get rid of this stuff?"

"Go right ahead," Matthew said. He took the pack off of Jackson's hands, and the boy sped away. He'd leave his gear in his locker and return in less than five minutes. He got a little bit faster every time. Matthew paused in his walking to look for Henry Mills, and finally he spotted the boy. He changed direction to meet him.

"Henry!" Matthew wove his way through groups of kids moving in the different directions.

"Matthew?" Henry was obviously surprised. He didn't have many friends here at the school, for multiple reasons. Before the Curse broke, people had thought that the boy was crazy, and after the Curse broke, most of the kids thought his lack of second life made him uninteresting. So, Henry Mills didn't have a lot of friends, but only a few.

And a few was enough. Henry smiled now, though Matthew could see he was still confused. "Matthew," Henry started again. "How are things with Loki?"

"Eh, he still hates getting up in the morning," Matthew shrugged. He chuckled as he thought of Mr. Hemming's baleful stare. "But he's getting pretty excited about the remodeling on the library. He says we should be moving in soon. No more inns for us!"

Matthew spotted Jackson approaching from the corner of his eye, and something occurred to him. "Oh, I don't think you two have met before," he said, turning to include the new arrival. "Henry, this is my friend, Jackson Young. Jackson, meet Henry Mills."

Jackson's ever-present smile faltered, as did his footing. He caught himself quickly, though, almost before a second had passed, but Matthew noticed. He chose not to say anything, watching as his friend plastered a cheery smile across his features and offered Henry a hand. "Mills, eh? Seems to me that if it weren't for you, people would be pretty short on memory around here."

"I'm not the Savior," Henry said, not catching Jackson's drift.

Jackson chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short, Hank," he advised. Matthew noticed his gaze was sharper than usual, but his quick attachment of a nickname indicated that he liked Henry. Matthew resolved to talk to Jackson later.

"It's Henry," Henry told Jackson. The other boy shrugged.

"I like Hank better. Don'tcha think, Mowg?"

Matthew put his hands up in the air, a gesture to show that he didn't want to get dragged into this. "Nicknames are your thing, Jackson," he replied. His head turned. "Hey, is that Paige?" He grinned and waved to the girl, calling her name. She waved back.

"See her dad with her?" Henry asked.

"Uh, no, but there is this skinny dude with her—"

"That's him! Thanks for the help, Matthew!"

Henry dashed off. Matthew shrugged, figuring he'd get an explanation later. Sheesh, both of his friends were acting strangely today. Jackson hooked an arm around Matthew's neck and dragged him alongside, his grin showing bright through his thick coating of freckles. "Hey, didja talk to Mr. H about staying the night?"

"Yep. We're clear to go," Matthew told him. He stumbled, since Jackson's arm was still locked around his neck, and he was a few inches taller than the other boy. "But I've gotta be back by tomorrow afternoon."

"Aw yes!" Jackson unhooked his arm so as to pump both of them victoriously. Matthew happily straightened back up. Jackson's cheerful crow rang out over the schoolyard noise, and Matthew beamed as he picked up on his friend's glee. A few kids turned to look for the source of the sound. Some recognized the two boys, some didn't.

The bells for class rang, and Jackson and Matthew rushed for their classes.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's notes:_** Finally, chapter two is rolling! The cast expands, and it looks like Henry might have some fun. Though it's really up to him. Also, writing stuff with wee!Loki and the rest is making me unreasonably happy. laksdjlaksdj

**_Warnings:_** None. Unless you count vague and terrible threats.

* * *

_You think your world is safe. It is an illusion, a comforting lie told to protect you._

-Star Trek: Into Darkness

* * *

Thor's eyes widened as his little brother sloshed past, accompanied by a strange woman. He knew it had to be Loki, but it was still so hard to believe—the younger prince always strove to be impeccable in his appearances, which Thor, personally, had never been able to understand. Dirt was fun! So to see _Loki _of all people going by, drenched from head to toe with remnants of water lilies tangled up in his hair and clothes… it was shocking, to say the least.

And who was that woman with him? Thor simply had to investigate. "Hey, Loki!" he called, and trotted after the pair. His little brother turned at the sound of his name.

An expression of utter panic flashed across Loki's face—this hall was usually abandoned, which was probably the reason he had taken it in the first place—and he quickly tried to regain his composure. He gave Thor a cool nod, as though his soggy figure was nothing outside the norm. The effect was hilarious, and Thor held his breath in a valiant attempt to keep from laughing.

"Yes, brother?" Loki queried. He seemed exasperated, but Thor knew better. The more exasperated Loki seemed, the more he was trying to not be amused. Or was it the other way around? The woman with Loki, almost equally as drenched as the young prince, bit her lip in a poor attempt to hide a smile. Luckily, Loki was facing away from her.

Thor gestured to the both of them, and his restraint proved for nothing as his laughter rang out. "How did you _get_ like this?" he wondered bemusedly, rocking as he continued to chortle. Loki's features were growing increasingly exasperated.

"It is an ancient Vanir discipline ritual, Allbrother Thor," Loki's companion answered with a solemn nod. Too solemn, perhaps? Thor noticed that Loki tended to be that way when he was being humorous. "Unpleasant behavior is swiftly treated with a flying dunk into the nearest body of water. Very effective, it is one of our oldest and most revered traditions."

Thor and Loki both blinked up at her. Then Loki's ill-tempered exterior cracked, and he burst out laughing just as the woman started to grin. Thor was astonished, but in a very good way. There were few adults who could make Loki laugh in earnest, and not just in mischief. The older prince smiled too.

"Thor, this is Sigyn of Vanaheim, my new nursemaid," Loki introduced his companion between giggles. "She's alright, I don't know why they didn't bring her in sooner."

"Likely it would have spared many a poor woman her sanity," Sigyn remarked. Her eyes sparked brightly, alert and playful in the same way that Loki's were. Thor liked her instantly, and offered a bow which she responded to in the appropriate manner. This was no ordinary nursemaid, and Thor was glad that Loki had finally found a kindred spirit. The young prince had never met anyone in the palace or beyond who reminded him of his little brother. It was a nice feeling.

"So, how is it that you two came to be so wet?" Thor asked again. Because he really, really wanted to know the story behind this.

"As Sigyn said, I did not respond to her presence… favorably," Loki explained. He unwound a vine from the sleeve of his tunic. "So she proceeded to throw me into the pond, since it happened to be nearby. Almost drowned me, too, as I recall."

Thor gaped at the nursemaid. "You threw my _brother_, a son of Odin, into a _pond?_"

"I did indeed, Allbrother Thor," Sigyn answered, sounding almost flippant. Thor had been more right than he knew: this woman was nowhere near being ordinary. "I used to do the very same for my own son, Theo, and I believe he has turned out well enough." She chuckled. "Though, perhaps he can hold his breath a little longer than most."

Thor turned to his younger sibling. "You understated, Loki," he declared. "She is much more than alright."

"You flatter me, Allbrother Thor," Sigyn said modestly. She shooed Loki along. "Now come on, Prince Loki, we don't want you catching a cold."

"Oh, Loki never catches colds," Thor told Sigyn. The Vanir came to an abrupt stop, and she turned a sharply curious look on the crown prince. Thor couldn't read her expression, but he wasn't very good at that, anyway. Loki seemed puzzled by his nursemaid's reaction as well.

"Really?" Sigyn asked. "Interesting." She shook herself from some unknown thought, smiling again. "But be that as it may, Prince Loki can't exactly drag a pond with him wherever he goes. He is an Asgardian, not a sea serpent." She curtsied to Thor. "An honor to meet you, Allbrother Thor. Hopefully our paths will cross again."

Thor grinned. "I should think so, Lady Sigyn! That's my brother you have to look after." He rushed off before Sigyn could correct him—she was no Lady. But then Loki made another smart remark (he seemed to have no lack of them) and Sigyn had to turn back around so as to gleefully threaten him with the pond again.

She informed him that it would be a race to see whoever made it back to his rooms first, and deliberately ran in the wrong direction. Loki's mischievous cackle echoed off the walls. Sigyn hiked up her skirts and chased after him. Oh, she had missed this.

Thor had gone off in search of his new friends, Sif and Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral. He had only met them a few days ago, and was looking for an opportunity to introduce them to Loki. He was sure that he would love them. He certainly wanted him to. The prince slowed down and looked back the way he had come.

He had felt sorry for Loki at first, hearing that his little brother was getting yet another nursemaid. It wasn't fair to him, not in the slightest. But now that Thor had met Lady Sigyn, and caught a glimpse of how much fun she must be… he felt a little envious. His own nursemaid years had ended decades ago.

"Thor! Are you going to stand there _forever_, or are you going to free me from the clutches of this diabolical maiden!" Fandral wailed in desperation. He must have challenged Sif again, or mistakenly insulted her, for he was pinned to the ground with his face coated in dirt. Sif had seated herself on his back, and was currently checking the balance of a wooden training sword. Volstagg stood hooting off to the side, and Hogun shook his head slowly.

Ordinarily, Thor would have felt uncomfortable about sharing company with someone several centuries older than him, but Volstagg was such a jolly fellow, and no one wished him to leave. Fandral kept trying to convince him to switch over from a beard to a moustache.

Thor readily tackled Sif to the ground, laughing heartily. She grinned dangerously, and Thor knew it wouldn't be long before he was beat. But he wasn't going to make it easy for Sif, oh no. It wasn't a proper spar until they both had some scrapes to show for it.

* * *

Loki had become quite proficient at weaving his way through the swarm of activity surrounding Storybrooke's library—_his_ library, Loki thought with pride—and he sidestepped equipment and construction workers with familiar ease. Occasionally he had to twist just a little bit more to keep his satchel from catching on anything. It wasn't difficult for him to find the man he was looking for, and Loki was not surprised. There weren't any other people in Storybrooke who could carry solid oak bookcases by themselves.

Balder Odinson looked every bit the brother of the Mighty Thor, unlike Loki. He stood tall and strong, though not quite as broad-shouldered as the Thunderer, and his eyes matched his eldest sibling's brilliant blue. He favored a short, slightly scruffy haircut these days, and had abandoned the beard from previous years.

Sometime after reaching his third century, Balder had left Asgard, abandoning the usual warrior lifestyle of his realm and choosing to become a questor instead. As a result, he had grown up much more quickly than Thor and Loki had. He also carried heavier burdens than they had, and alone. It was hard to believe that he was only seven hundred.

There was a pensive look on Balder's face right now, his brow creased in a troubled way. Although, it was possible that he was just concentrating: he certainly wouldn't want to lose his balance and squash an unfortunate human with the bookcase propped on his shoulder.

Then he spotted the librarian across the way and grinned. "Loki!" The Asgardian grunted as he set the bookcase down on the asphalt. Loki winced as it hit the road. "How goes it, brother?"

"Well enough," Loki replied. With some amusement he noted that Balder shared Thor's preference for plaid, though in blue rather than red. "Though truthfully, it is too early in the morn to yet tell. How fares progress?"

Balder used the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat and dust from his face. Loki wasn't sure exactly how effective that was supposed to be. "The living quarters for yourself and Matthew are nearly complete," Balder told his older brother. "Following the blueprints you gave us, that's two bedrooms plus a spare, a kitchen, dining room, study, and so forth." Loki nodded approval. "The foreman estimates that the second floor will be completed by this coming Thursday, at latest. But with an Æsir on the team…"

"Friday?" Loki suggested. Balder snorted.

"I was going to say Tuesday, but since pessimism seems to be your preference today, I'll just keep that to myself."

Loki chuckled. But he stopped and grimaced as a wave of dizziness caught him off guard. Balder didn't fail to notice, and quickly brought the other Asgardian to the closest thing to a seat he could find—an equipment table. He cleared away various tools and set the librarian's satchel next to its owner. Now Loki was the one who snorted, giving Balder a humored look as the questor pressed the back of a hand against his forehead.

"And they say I'm the motherly one," he remarked.

"You're running a temperature," Balder said in concern.

"Summer fever," Loki said dismissively, though he was worried that Balder had seen it, too. "You know I've always been prone to them, Balder."

"It isn't even May yet," the Æsir returned. "And the weather is nowhere near warm enough to justify you having this sort of reaction." Balder crossed his arms and frowned. "Are the dreams troubling you again?"

Loki looked up at him sharply. How had Balder known of that? "I do not discuss my dreams with anyone," Loki said.

"Exhausting, isn't it?" Balder replied. "I believe the Midgardian phrase is that it takes a fellow to know a fellow."

"Takes one to know one, but you were close." Loki sighed, hanging his head. He didn't want to look at Balder, didn't want to see the obvious concern on the younger Asgardian's face. If he had any idea of the things that haunted Loki's mind at night…

"Do you wish to speak of it?"

Of course he would ask that. So much like Thor. Loki shook his head. "I'd… I'd rather not," he told Balder. "It is unpleasant to even think of. Talking about it—"

Loki's phone trumpeted dramatically, causing both Loki and Balder to jump. The emphatic tune was one that Madge had selected, informing Loki that it was the theme of Isengard. He could he refuse that? Plus, the reactions were always well worth the volume.

Loki turned off the alarm, and they both relaxed, Balder quietly laughing off his embarrassment. This was the fourth time the pounding music of _Lord of the Rings_ had startled him.

"I suppose we can take that as an indicator that it is time for a different vein of conversation," Balder commented. "Oh, there's something Vic found last night that may interest you. Lillian told us that the elevator has long been broken, so Vic's been working on it for the past few weeks. He finally fixed it and found out that there's—"

"Apologies, Balder," Loki cut him off politely as he first pocketed his phone, then reached for his satchel. "But that fanfare just now means that visiting hours for Madge have begun, and since it is only a limited window of time for me, I had better go."

"Oh, very well then." Balder nodded understanding and waved Loki away. "I'll just tell you about the giant cave Vic found underneath the library some other time."

Loki jerked to a halt and quickly turned back around. "Pardon?"

"We'll talk about it later," Balder promised. "How about over dinner this evening? Julia's kicked me out of the house for the day, so…"

"As long as you're paying," Loki replied with a shrug. One of the mannerisms he had picked up from Matthew. "It is your idea, after all. Wait, Julia kicked you out of the house?"

"It's an embarrassing story."

"What did you _do?_" A mischievous grin started to emerge on Loki's face as he pondered the possibilities.

"There is a young girl in a hospital waiting to see you, Loki," Balder sulked. "So get to that. Rest assured, you'll hear of my humiliating banishment at dinner."

Loki smirked. "Looking forward to it," he told Balder, and left. He could hear Balder's exaggerated grumbling as he went, and the Æsir picked up his bookcase and went back to work. Loki looped the satchel's strap across his shoulders before turning for Storybrooke's hospital.

* * *

Grace tiptoed down the hall towards her father's bedroom, planning to jump in and wake him up. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and she tried to silence her giggles by keeping a hand over her mouth, but when she opened the door, her father wasn't there. Grace's breath caught in her throat, and her dark eyes darted to all the little corners of the room as she searched for him. Her fear spiked as she wondered if the past few days had been nothing more than a dream, that her papa was still missing and she didn't know why he wasn't coming back home.

But it couldn't have been just a dream. It _couldn't!_ Grace fled from the bedroom, frantically racing through the house as she tried to find her father. She ran downstairs, barely able to see for her panic, and tripped on the last step. The girl hit the hardwood floors with a sharp cry, slowly curling into a ball as her senses reeled from the shock of impact.

"Grace? Grace!"

_Grace._ There was only one person here who called her Grace instead of Paige. "Papa!" she screamed.

She could hear the soles of his shoes skid against the floor as he rounded a corner. Arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, and Grace clung desperately to her father, burying her face in his chest as she sobbed. Jefferson's fingers had become tangled in her hair, but she was reassured by the consistent tug. This was real. Her papa was back home, and this time to stay.

"Shh, shh, Grace, I'm here," Jefferson murmured, stroking her back soothingly as he rocked them both. "I'm never leaving again, honey, I promise."

Jefferson's steady embrace was comforting. Grace loosened a hand to wipe away her tears, but she did not relinquish her hold entirely. Not yet. She blinked at the black and silver stripes of her papa's pajamas, thinking of the days when he wore so many different colors, and how he would test her to see if she could name every one.

Those were good days. Grace slowly tilted her head upward, searching for her papa's face. There it was, with his mussy dark hair and the funny little chin she liked to poke, right there. And just like always, that made Jefferson smile. So Grace smiled back.

"You okay now?" Jefferson asked softly.

Grace nodded. "I missed you, Papa," she whispered.

"Oh, Grace." Jefferson pulled her closer, pale blue eyes closing as he kissed her forehead. "I missed you, too. But I'm back now."

"Next time an evil queen shows up at our house, can you just say no?"

Jefferson laughed, and so did Grace. "Your wish is my command, milady." He leaned back, cupping her face in one of his hands. "I love you, Grace," he told her. His eyes were shining, as though just about ready for weeping.

Grace wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. It was warm on her finger. "I love you too, Papa."

Jefferson smiled a little. He stood up, and Grace stood up with him. "I made us some breakfast," he informed her.

"Already? Do you _ever_ sleep, Papa?"

Jefferson hesitated, wondering if he hadn't concealed the bags under his eyes sufficiently. Then he made himself smile. "Of course I do, silly," he said teasingly. He held out a hand and Grace took it, swinging her arm and his as they walked.

"Papa, can I go to school today?" she asked.

"Do you want to?" Jefferson returned.

"I miss my friends," Grace mumbled, shrugging. She wasn't sure if she should feel bad about it or not; wasn't her father more important than her schoolmates?

"We'll be eating breakfast right away, then," Jefferson decided. "I cleaned your uniform yesterday, it should be dry by now."

"Thank you, Papa!" Grace pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek, then rushed into the kitchen to find out what breakfast was. Jefferson had to blink away tears as he followed her. Breakfast and the space of time afterward passed in a noisy blur; Grace was excited by the prospect of seeing her friends again, and Jefferson wanted to be sure that she wasn't forgetting anything. She giggled at him as he hovered.

He drove her to the school and saw her off, watching as she disappeared into the crowd of children. _You'll see her after school, Jefferson,_ he told himself. _She'll come back home with you, you'll see her again._ Reluctantly satisfied, he turned away and went back to his vehicle.

"Mr. Hatter! Mr. Hatter, wait!"

Jefferson knew that voice. He turned to see Henry, the boy who had convinced him to return to Grace after the Curse had broken. Henry stumbled to a halt, somewhat off balance due to his backpack, and he smiled. "I see you came back to Grace," he said.

Jefferson smiled, eyes flicking in the direction she had gone. "You were right, Henry."

"She seems happy."

"We both are." Jefferson did something he didn't do very often; he bowed with complete sincerity. "Thank you."

Henry shuffled awkwardly. "It was just… I was just doing the right thing," he stammered. The bell rang for class, and he quickly said goodbye before running off in hopes of making it in time.

Jefferson watched him for a moment, then turned away and got back into his car. Since he was already out, he might as well run some errands. He had snagged a shopping list off the refrigerator before he and Grace had left for the school, as well as the accompanying to-do list.

Groceries he would do last, so there was less time before he got everything to the fridge, freezer, or pantry. Grace would never forgive him if he went to the library without her, and Loki usually wasn't around the library during school hours. So, it seemed that the auto shop would be Jefferson's first stop.

The former thief's current car was a rental, since his usual one had been damaged during the wraith attack some weeks ago. And while the rental was certainly nice (for once, Jefferson was grateful for the plentiful funds the Curse had provided him with), Jefferson would be glad to have his own car back.

The auto shop's owner, Michael Tillman, had buried himself past the elbows in the guts of a truck. A young boy, obviously his son, was standing on the fender and peering in, listening as his father gave him instruction. Tillman's business seemed to have grown, with nearly a dozen vehicles parked in and around the shop, and two new employees.

One of them, a stocky little woman who Jefferson almost recognized, was working on his own car. She was passing tips to a solemn-looking blonde girl, who bore a good deal of similarity to Tillman and his boy. The woman smudged her nose with grease, prompting a smile from the girl.

"Oh, Mr. Hatter," Tillman said, nearly hitting his head on the hood as he emerged from the truck's engine. He stepped between Jefferson and his son. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Just checking to see how things are going," Jefferson told him.

"As you can see, we're a little backed up at the moment," Tillman said apologetically. "But your car should be repaired soon."

"Before the end of next week, that's for sure!" the woman working on Jefferson's car declared. Now that she was facing him, Jefferson remembered where he had seen her before. In those times, though, she had been less than a foot tall. Tinkerbell. It was only natural that she would be at home in an auto shop, while the rest of the fairies were nuns.

Jefferson nodded his thanks to both Tillman and Tink, thinking that if the rest of his errands ran this quickly, he'd be home within the next couple of hours. It was nice when things were sorted out quickly.

He should have known better. As Jefferson turned, he collided with a man who was sickeningly familiar: Peter, his neighbor from the years in the forest. Even worse, his wife Veronica was with him. Jefferson quickly twisted out of the man's way and almost ran from the auto shop, hoping that if he moved fast enough, neither of them would have time to react.

"Jefferson! Hey, Jefferson, wait up!"

Jefferson hesitated, then slowed. He turned and watched as Peter ran to meet him. Veronica was standing in the entrance to the auto shop, staring with a mixture of shock and something else.

"We had wondered if Grace found you," Peter told Jefferson after he had caught his breath. "Since she didn't come home a few days ago… We're told it's been happening a lot, lately."

"Yes, Grace found me," Jefferson said quietly. He considered running again—Peter certainly wouldn't stand a chance of keeping up—but he had been there for Paige as her father, when Jefferson couldn't. "Thank you, Peter, for taking care of her."

"Yeah. You were kind of gone for a while."

This. Jefferson _knew_ it was going to come to this. "I was trapped," he explained, not meeting Peter's eyes. "I couldn't get back, and believe me, it wasn't for lack of trying."

"Believe you?" Veronica scoffed. Jefferson hadn't seen her coming up. "_Regina_ came to your house, Jefferson! We can't believe anything you say! And where were you, exactly? You gallivanted off without a word of explanation, abandoning Paige as though she was worth nothing to you."

"I never abandoned Grace," Jefferson whispered. He could feel his anger rising. Peter was looking between his wife and Jefferson with unease. Veronica meant well, but she had a tendency to bring out the worst in people.

"Tell that to her," Veronica spat. "We should just bring Paige back home—"

"Don't you _dare_ take my daughter away from me!" Jefferson roared, last vestiges of restraint snapping. His eyes blazed with fury.

"Jefferson!" Peter cried, and Jefferson realized that his hands had formed a chokehold around Veronica's throat. Shaken, he released her and took several steps back, telling himself _count to ten, count to ten._

Peter stared at Jefferson in horror, holding his wife protectively. "Veronica, wait for me in the shop," he said. Normally she would have protested, but now she just stared at Jefferson fearfully. Peter gently took her chin in his hand and made her look at him instead. "Honey, go."

She left. Jefferson's hands were trembling, and he curled his fingers into fists in an attempt to steady them. It didn't work.

"Jefferson, where did that come from?" Peter asked. He sounded distressed. "You used to be the gentlest man I knew."

"Time has a way of changing people," Jefferson said wearily. But Peter had no idea what he used to be, before the Curse, before the Hat—no, he couldn't think about that. Not now, not ever. "I'm sorry, Peter."

"I'm not the one who needs the apology," Peter replied. He could see the other man's shoulders tense, before he bowed his head in shame. "Jefferson, is Grace going to safe around you?"

Jefferson could feel his fury kindle. "Of course she's—"

"No," Peter cut him off; an unusual act from someone of such mild temperament. "You never would have done to Veronica what you did just now. I've never known you to be that sort of man, and neither has Grace. So I'm asking you: is Grace going to be safe around you?"

"Everything I do I have done for my daughter's protection," Jefferson said fervently, turning back around to face Peter. "Everything."

"I know you believe in that, Jefferson," Peter replied. "And I wish I could, too. But she's not just your daughter anymore. For twenty-eight years, all I have known is that Paige is my little girl. I remember nearly eleven years of watching her grow up. So please, Jefferson, give yourself an honest evaluation and ask that question again."

Jefferson paused, thinking it over. "Yes," he said evenly, but Peter didn't fail to catch his hesitation. "Grace will be safe with me."

Peter gave him a long, hard look. "I'm going to trust you, Jefferson," he the older man. "But I need you to promise me that if she _ever_ says she feels unsafe around you, you let her come back ho—to us." He offered his hand. "Please. Father-to-father, this is all I want."

Jefferson looked at Peter's hand, at Peter's face, for a long time. Finally he nodded and shook his old neighbor's hand, sealing the agreement. "I promise," he said, and the words felt thick in his throat. "If Grace ever feels unsafe in my presence, I'll let her come back to you."

"I'll hold you to that, Jefferson," Peter said seriously. His face lightened with a smile and he clapped Jefferson's shoulder. "Take care now."

Peter went back to his wife. Jefferson released the breath he had been holding and went back to his rental car. He sank back in the seat, rubbing at his face in an effort to spend some nervous energy. That had really, really not gone as he had hoped it would.

If he ran into Regina at the grocery store, he was going to kill somebody.

* * *

Loki had hoped to avoid Mr. and Mrs. Lykke when he reached the hospital. But of course, luck was rarely on his side these days. He nearly slammed into Madge's mother head-on, and the woman stumbled back and treated him to the most venomous glare she could muster. Loki responded with a cold stare, and felt a small amount of satisfaction as both Mr. and Mrs. Lykke backed down. Having a past as a supervillain did have it perks. Supervillain was the term they used on Midgard, wasn't it?

Loki checked that the bouquet he had brought for Madge was undamaged. To his relief, each blossom was as crisp and colorful as when he had selected them.

"You don't have much time," Mrs. Lykke said sharply. Like Madge, she was blonde and blue-eyed, but her gaze held none of the light that Madge's did. The woman's features were angular and hollow. If she wasn't so spiteful, Loki would have felt pity for her.

"Time is something I have plenty of," Loki replied pointedly. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, since his collision with Mrs. Lykke had unbalanced it. "_Mortal._"

That stung Mrs. Lykke, somehow. Her husband glared up at Loki, and it occurred to the librarian that this was the first time they had met face-to-face. If Mrs. Lykke was angular, then Mr. Lykke was blunt. He seemed to have all the personality of giant rock, but Loki caught a distinctive vibe of hostility from the man. Something about him felt vicious, and in an unsettlingly familiar way. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"What are you doing here?"

Loki was interrupted in his broodings by the snarled demand. "I am here to see Madge," he answered. "She is a friend of mine, I visit her often."

"Madge doesn't have any friends," Mrs. Lykke said flatly. "She has books and pens and a cat. Not friends. She refuses to reach out. Even lying on her _deathbed,_ she refuses to reach out!"

"Perhaps that because she is surrounded by people all too willing to strike her down," Loki snapped in reply. "And I wouldn't call it a deathbed." With that he bypassed the two humans, taking a moment to calm himself before going into Madge's room.

The girl smiled brightly at Loki when he came in, her eyes shining. The radiant blues stood out in sharp contrast to her sallow skin and sunken features. She was sitting up today, an open book in her lap. "You came!" she exclaimed.

"But of course," Loki replied, smiling in response. He didn't notice how Mrs. Lykke jerked to a halt, her eyes wide. She and her husband retreated from view right before Loki turned to close the door. "Here, I brought you something."

"Lilies!" Madge accepted the bouquet joyfully and breathed in the scents. "Yellow and orange are my favorite colors in the _world._ Well, worlds. How did you know?"

Loki maintained a comically enigmatic manner as he took the bouquet back and placed it on the bedside table, angling it towards the sun. "You seemed the sort," he said vaguely, eyes playful.

"So, no Matthew today either, huh?" Madge noted. She grinned teasingly. "I'm starting to think this boy you keep talking about doesn't even exist."

"I assure you, he does," Loki replied. "It so happens that he has school today. Tomorrow, though, I've arranged for you two to finally meet."

"Forgive me for not leaping with joy," Madge said. She pointed. "Bed's kind of in the way."

Loki's expression softened. "How are you feeling, Madge?" he asked.

"I've certainly seen better days," Madge said lightly. She looked away, her expression downcast, and rubbed at where her eyebrows used to be. "They, um, they ran some tests yesterday."

"Yes, I recall having to leave early." Loki sat down on the chair beside Madge's bed, carefully setting his satchel down on the floor.

"Yeah." Madge took a deep breath, steadying herself. "So, it's been confirmed. The docs aren't sure how much time I have left. Without further chemotherapy, it's going to be a very short while. A few weeks, maybe. And with the chemotherapy, I'd have the addition of maybe a month or two."

Loki's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Madge."

"This isn't your fault, Mr. Hemming."

"I could help you if I just—"

"It is _not_ your fault," Madge said firmly. "And you did try, you tried your best, and that really matters to me. Now shut up, please." She smiled, her lips thin and colorless on a face too young for all this. "Okay? You're my friend, stop trying to make me angry at you."

"How can you be so resigned to this?" Loki wondered.

"Oh, I'm not resigned at all," Madge answered quietly. She closed the book in her lap and set it aside. It was a Bible, and Loki noticed the pages were covered in Madge's own little notes. "But really, there's no point in spending my last days moping in a hospital. There's always something to find joy in, you know. I just have to look for it."

"You knew this day was coming," Loki realized.

"My grandma died of the same cancer I have now," Madge explained. "At least, the Storybrooke version of her. And you know the story about me, _The Little Matchgirl?_ I'm already dead there. The Curse swept me away when I was moments from the threshold. This is just how it's supposed to be. And really, is dying so bad? Heaven doesn't sound like totally terrible deal, you know."

"You believe in such things?" Loki questioned, a hint of derision in his tones.

"My grandma did," Madge replied simply, shrugging a pair of skinny shoulders. "And that's good enough for me."

"How can it be?" Loki demanded, starting to feel angry. "This God, whom you Christians believe to be the very embodiment of love, has condemned you to this fate! How can you believe your god to be so good when he lets you suffer in such a way?"

"If I believe my god to be so good, why should I assume that he thinks suffering is evil?" Madge returned. "I mean, it sucks. I know I'm not having any fun with this. But take a look at all the good things that come out of suffering."

"You've really given this a lot of thought," Loki observed.

"I spend a lot of time in my head," Madge replied. She poked him. "So, are you going to tell me what books are in that satchel, or are you just going to keep me in the dark?"

* * *

"Jackson." Matthew caught up with his friend in the hall as they made their way to the cafeteria. The older boy looked over at him curiously. "We need to have a talk."

"That sounds ominous," Jackson remarked. "I'm guessing this is going to be a private discussion. There's a perfect spot at my place. If you're alright with waiting until after school, that's where we'll go, and I'll be available for as long as you need me. 'Kay?"

"'Kay," Matthew muttered. He looked over. "Hey, there's Henry."

"Then that's where we'll go!" Jackson wheeled about and pulled Matthew after, and in moments they had Henry flanked. The other boy seemed vaguely amused.

"So, are you guys just going to follow me around until we become friends?" he asked.

"Worked for Mr. Hemming," Matthew pointed out. They all laughed, and entered the cafeteria. Matthew slipped ahead to secure seats with Henry close behind, and Jackson split off to fetch whatever it was the cafeteria was serving today.

"Thanks for the help in spotting Paige's dad," Henry said to Matthew. He sat next to him, putting his lunchbox on the table.

"No problem," Matthew replied. He plopped his paper sack of food on the table and sniffed. He seemed to like what he smelled. "How do you know the guy?"

"Well, I don't know him, exactly," Henry tried to explain. He set a water bottle up on the table as well, just as Matthew had, and opened his lunchbox. "He's, uh, he's the Mad Hatter."

Matthew blinked, his hand halfway into the paper bag. "Paige, sensible and very sane Paige, is the daughter of _the Mad Hatter?_"

"He wasn't always mad," Henry told Matthew. "Actually, there's not a whole lot I know about him. He did seem to get involved in a bunch of things back in day, though."

"Who, Hatter?" Jackson asked as he came up. He sat down across from Matthew and Henry, sliding his tray along the table's surface. Chili seemed to be the lunch of the day. "That fella had his fingers in almost every pie. That's what made him the best."

Matthew gave Jackson a surprised look. His hand was still suspended in the paper bag. "How do you know all of this stuff?" he asked.

"I've been around," Jackson shrugged. He gestured at Matthew with a plastic spoon. "So, what's in the bag today?"

"Dunno. With Granny's leftovers, though, it's always gonna be good." Matthew finally reached into the bag the rest of the way and unveiled the contents. An ecstatic grin appeared on the ten-year-old's face. "Aw, _yes!_ Tuna!"

"Your wolf is showing, Mowg," Jackson remarked as his friend took an enthusiastic number of bites. Henry tried not to giggle; he had a mouthful of cold soup (which tasted strangely good when it was cold), and he did not want to spray that all over Jackson and the table.

"Like I care? It's _tuna,_ man," Matthew replied. He frowned at the crumbs that had dared escape his jaws. "I swear, Miss Ruby uses magic fish or something when she makes these."

"I hear ya," Jackson chuckled. He poked his spoon into his bowl of something-that-was-supposedly-food, and his eyebrows lifted as the spoon remained erect in the chili. "Whoa."

"Sure you want to eat that?" Henry questioned, giving Jackson's lunch a wary look. "I think I've got an extra PB&J in here somewhere."

"I ain't sharing my tuna," Matthew said instantly. He pulled the bag closer and growled for effect. Jackson snorted.

"S'okay, Hank, Mowg, I'm a big boy," he assured them. "I've eaten a lot worse than monster chili, trust me." He cocked an eyebrow at the still-erect spoon. "Though I don't think we had quite so many chemicals back in fairytale land."

"Well, at worst, you could have a freak accident and gain superpowers," Henry pointed out. "Chili Boy doesn't really sound like you, though."

"_Chili Boy…_" Matthew cackled himself right off the bench. "What are you going to do, Jackson, fart the crime rate down?"

Matthew blinked in surprise when Jackson slapped a spoonful of chili into his face. "Looks like my superpowers are kicking in already," Jackson commented. Henry burst out laughing as Matthew scowled up at them indignantly.

"You haven't even eaten any of it yet!" he protested.

"I'm ahead of your time," Jackson said loftily. Somehow Matthew found another student's bowl of chili and landed it straight in Jackson's face. Good thing the bowls were Styrofoam. "_Mph!_ The uniform, Mowg, you're gonna ruin the uniform?"

"So?"

Someone was hooting with laughter. It was the student whose bowl Matthew had snatched. He lifted his entire tray and heaved its contents into the air. "FOOD FIIIIIIIGHT!"

The cafeteria erupted in chaos. Extremely sticky and smelly and noisy chaos. Henry did the smart thing and took cover under one of the tables. After a moment Matthew and Jackson joined him, though he had a feeling this would only be temporary, and they were already caked in at least eight different lunches.

"I think I've just befriended a couple of psychos," Henry informed them.

Jackson put on his best psycho grin, and Matthew laughed. "You're only getting that just now?"

Henry looked from one super messy boy to the other, and felt a smile start reaching for his ears. He was very, very glad he bumped into these two this morning. "Kinda," he said, and joined them as they charged roaring back into the fray.

* * *

Loki decided to take an alternative route from the hospital to the school, as he did on occasion. He of course had to stop at Granny's first, dropping some extra books from his satchel and packing supplies for Matthew's overnight stay at Jackson's home. It turned out that he had made the right choice in wandering that day as he came into a clearing and spotted an aggravatingly familiar old man.

He didn't notice Loki's arrival at first, staring fixedly across the distance, and Loki wasn't surprised to learn that he had a perfect view of the school. Or, to be more precise, a perfect view of Henry Mills.

Now, Loki had no fondness for young Mills' relations—Nolan and his bride were walking moral codes, Sheriff Swan was on the verge of hostile, and Regina was a distinctly malevolent witch. Loki wasn't even going to start on Rumplestiltskin.

Did they know about that yet? Hm, no matter.

Nevertheless, Loki had a soft spot for Henry. Contribute it to his fondness for children, or to a promise he had made to someone many years ago, but he didn't want any harm to come to the boy. Despite harm's determination to head the boy's way.

Case in point: Albert Spencer. Or King George, it really depended on who you asked. The enmity between Spencer and Nolan was no secret; for some reason, the king despised Nolan for having progeny. Loki was sure there was a story behind that, but he honestly didn't care.

He had thought he had already taken care of the Spencer issue. Obviously the human needed a reminder. He slipped up behind Spencer without being detected. He drew himself up, banishing all expression from his face. "Spencer."

Spencer jumped, spinning around. His eyes were hard, lacking any emotions other than hatred and anger. Now, though, a hint of fear could be seen. It reminded Loki uncomfortably of himself, but now was not the time for introspection.

Loki tilted his head. "I thought we had this discussion already, Spencer."

"It takes more than an alien _bookworm_ to intimidate me," Spencer scoffed. Likely he had dealt with many bluffs in his lifetime. Loki wasn't bluffing.

"Then it is indeed your lucky day," Loki informed the human. "For I am certainly more than an alien bookworm."

The Jotun smiled sharply. Before Spencer had time to react, the space between them had closed and Loki's lips were barely an inch from his ear. He whispered a moment, feeling the taut strength of Spencer's body reduce itself to terrified shaking.

"I trust I have made myself clear this time, mortal," Loki said mildly, watching as the old man went down to his knees, struggling to breathe. It was entirely feasible that he had just given the man a panic attack. "You shouldn't overestimate your own power, Your Majesty. I only bluff against those of whom I am afraid." He regarded Spencer for a moment, waiting until the man looked up at him. "And I am not afraid of you."

Spencer shrank. His eyes were dark with malice, but he knew when he was beat. That was how he had survived for so long. Loki pulled him up to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "Now, _remember,_" he said, pale eyes burning with fury. "Stay. Away. From Henry. And pray to whatever god you believe in that our paths won't cross again. I am not known for my mercy."

He shoved Spencer away, and glared coldly after the man until he had fled from Loki's sight. Any other time, his lips would have curled up into a triumphant smirk. Today, they did not. Spencer was too vile a creature to elicit any satisfaction.

Due to his time spent on dealing with Spencer, Loki was now running late. So, obviously it was time to run. Loki set himself a brisk pace, cutting through several back and front yards without the homeowners noticing, and he made it to the school just after the students had been released.

He waded through the crowds of children, getting stopped every few moments by a familiar face. More than a dozen times he was asked when the library was going to open again. Loki promised them soon, soon, and vainly tried to hurry towards the parking lot.

Matthew and Jackson were waiting for him, though at the moment they were seeing off Henry Mills. Obviously, a new friend had been brought into the fold.

"Somebody's popular," an unfamiliar voice remarked. Loki turned and looked down at the woman who had spoken, a stocky little character wearing the leather garb of a motorcyclist. Her eyes were an abnormally bright green, almost neon.

"Tinkerbell, I presume?" Loki said.

The vivid greens smirked up at Loki, and the woman offered a hand. Her grip would have broken the hand of a lesser man. "I go by Sandy Faye around these parts," she answered. "Loki, I presume?"

"Tom Hemming." Loki smiled. "Matthew told me I would like you. I am beginning to suspect that he was correct."

It was about this time that Matthew realized Loki had arrived. He shouted excitedly and vaulted across the space, hugging Loki with fierce enthusiasm. Jackson snatched Matthew's pack from Loki and then stopped, staring at it incredulously.

"Um, this thing doesn't look like it could fit so much as a cat, so why is it heavier than Fio's weights?" he asked.

Matthew groaned and gave Loki a wounded look. "C'mon, Mr. Hemming, you know I'll never be able to repack that."

"Which is why I stored a larger bag within," Loki replied. "It should serve your purposes well enough."

Matthew went back to his previous mood of excitement. As he bounced away, Loki's nose wrinkled. "Is that… chili?"

"Apparently there was a food fight," Sandy informed him. "Went on for a good half hour."

"I wonder who could have started it," Loki said as he watched Jackson and Matthew. The red-haired lad was helping Matthew wrangle on a leather jacket. Sandy snickered.

"It's one of life's great mysteries, that's for sure." She turned to Loki, her expression serious. "Matthew's going to be in good hands, Mr. Hemming."

"I trust that," Loki nodded. He turned as Matthew came bouncing back, fully outfitted in motorcycle gear akin to Sandy and Jackson's. He hadn't put his gloves on yet, though. "I shall see you tomorrow, Matthew."

"See ya, Mr. Hemming!" Matthew exclaimed. He hugged Loki again, then his brow creased in a puzzled manner. "You feel kinda funny. Warm, and stuff. Are you okay, Mr. Hemming?"

"It's nothing," Loki assured him quickly. He ruffled the boy's hair and chuckled. "Now enjoy yourself, Matthew. Though I hardly have to tell you that."

Matthew went to join Jackson and Sandy. "Thanks for letting him come over, Mr. H," Jackson said after a cuing elbow from Sandy. "You rock."

"And you exaggerate," Loki returned. "I'll see you all again tomorrow afternoon, but right now I must go. There are more errands for me to run, and I have dinner plans. Balder wishes to catch up with me on a number of subjects."

"Hoo, am I glad I wriggled out of that one!" Matthew exclaimed. "No offense, Mr. Hemming, but when you and your brother start playing catch up, it just goes on and on and on and on and—"

"I think I've got the idea, Matthew," Loki said dryly. Matthew snickered. Sandy had seated herself upon the motorcycle, and Jackson pulled Matthew along to sit behind. The engine awoke, growling steadily.

"See ya, Mr. Hemming!" Matthew called, waving a moment before the motorcycle pulled back from the curb and drove away. Loki watched them go, then turned and wove his way back through the significantly thinned out crowd of children.

The librarian frowned. Balder and Matthew had both noticed the rise in his temperature. Maybe it was a summer fever or nothing, as he was telling them, but what if he was wrong? April was too early for the first option, and that dizzy spell had been too strong for the second.

It was strange. And for once, strange was not to Loki's liking.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's notes:** _And the cast expands again! Golly, it's looking like there are going to be a looooot of characters in this story. Picking out Storybrooke names is fun. :)

Also, Balder. Balder what are you doing.

_**Warnings:** _Spoilers for the Season 2 finale of OUAT.

* * *

_Enjoy these final moments of peace._

-Star Trek: Into Darkness

* * *

"So, this is your digs," Matthew said as he craned his neck up. The apartment building was four levels, fully justifying Matthew's need to crane his neck up. Miss Sandy left to park her motorcycle elsewhere after Matthew and Jackson removed their baggage. The boy's lip curled a little. He had never liked the stink of vehicle exhaust.

"Top floor, buddy," Jackson grinned, plopping his backpack down the pavement. Matthew did the same, but a little more gently. "We pretty much have a direct route to the roof," Jackson continued as he wrestled off his leather jacket. "Tink says she remembers doing barbecues up there with the rest of the tenants in the summer, and that sounds like fun to me."

"JACKSON!"

Jackson and Matthew both spun, Jackson dropping his jacket and Matthew wincing slightly at the sheer volume of the unexpected yell. Two boys with identical features came surging out of the apartment building and rushed Jackson. Hooting and hollering, the twins seemed to form a whirlwind of striped sweaters and wide grins around the older boy. Jackson appeared to take this development in stride, laughing as he snagged each boy by the collar and forced them to a halt. They appeared to be eight or nine, but if they were associated with Peter Pan, then they were probably a good deal older than that.

It was at this point two more boys arrived. They seemed to be in their early teens, and were nearly complete visual opposites of each other: one favored piercings and his hair was pulled up into bright red spikes, his eyes a fierce black, and the other was clad in soft shades of brown and gray, his face widely expressive.

"Come for the charges?" Jackson asked, snickering as the twins squawked indignantly. He finally released them, gesturing quickly as he looked over at Matthew. "Oh, Mowg, allow me to make some introductions."

"That would be helpful," Matthew said. Jackson's hands moved again, and Matthew realized that he wasn't gesturing, he was signing. One of the two older boys had to be deaf.

"Okay then," Jackson said, and continued to sign as he spoke. Matthew had heard about talking with your hands, but this was the real deal. "The little terrors here are Benton and Fenton Coon, back home they were just The Twins. My favorite angry guy over here is K. Wakahisa—don't say his first name if you want to live—and pre-Curse, he went by, uh, Rufio. Last is Thurston Coon, the Curse threw him and the Twins together as siblings, and way back when he was William Chesterfield."

Thurston/William grimaced. Jackson glanced back over at Matthew. "By the way, he hates that name. And anything posh-ish, for that matter."

The ringleader—for Jackson was very clearly that—presented Matthew to his group in a manner that was obviously a mockery of grandeur. "Guys, this is Matthew Frog. You can call him Mowgli if you want."

"Hi," Matthew said. Wakahisa glared at him suspiciously, and Matthew could swear he heard the teen growl. Thurston was somewhat more welcoming, offering Matthew a light smile as he looked him over curiously. Benton and Fenton peered at Matthew for about .5 seconds and presented thumbs-ups and _loud_ declarations of approval.

"Are you boys going to stand here gawping at each other all day, or are you going to come on up and get some din?" a voice hollered from above.

Each of them looked sharply up, and Matthew's eyes widened in surprise as he realized that Miss Sandy had somehow slipped past them into the apartment building. She was now leaning out one of the top floor windows, looking down at them in amusement. The jungle boy could see the wind whipping at her short hair, even from down where he stood.

"I'm gonna get there first!" Benton and Fenton shouted at the same time, and charged the doors.

"Come on, Mowg, we can't let the runts beat us!" Jackson exclaimed. He grabbed Matthew by the wrist and dragged him after as he raced after the twins.

"But what about—" Matthew looked over his shoulder and saw that Thurston had already picked up his and Jackson's packs, as well as the redhead's jacket. "Never mind."

They vanished inside and sped up the stairs. Wakahisa shook his head at Thurston as the boy passed him. "You shouldn't accept a stranger so quickly, Thurston," he admonished.

The older boy was unperturbed by Wakahisa's disapproval. _Peter likes him a great deal,_ he signed. _That's good enough for me, Kelsey. Though I understand that it is not enough for you._

Wakahisa frowned at the use of his local first name. Anyone other than Thurston would have earned a well-placed punch across the jaw—Wakahisa did not appreciate the continual comments that he had a girl's name, and the implications that had a tendency to follow. Thurston held out one of the packs, wordlessly indicating that Wakahisa was to take it.

_For the record,_ the deaf boy continued, _I haven't accepted this Matthew Frog just yet. _Sea-gray eyes sharpened as they looked over at Wakahisa, and the fierce-looking teen nearly shivered under the gaze. _I am not without my wariness, Kelsey._

They followed the Peter and the rest of the gang up.

* * *

Jackson had scoffed at the thought of taking the elevator, which he explained later had been broken for as long as any of the tenants could remember, and he ducked through a door and led Matthew up the tightly winding staircase that connected the four levels of the apartment building. The rapid pounding of their feet and the Twins' echoed loudly in the enclosed space, along with laughter and the occasional hoot from Benton and Fenton. Matthew couldn't stop grinning, the quick pulsing of blood through his system felt so natural, and if he closed his eyes he could almost believe he was racing up one of the steep inclines within the jungle.

It was easy for the wolf boy to take the lead—he was a born runner, almost faster than the pack that had raised him—and yet, somehow, the Twins got to the apartment first. Matthew gave Jackson an incredulous look as he caught up, since he was a little too out of breath to actually ask how Benton and Fenton had done it.

"It's okay, they always win," Jackson chuckled. He shook a fist at the grinning twins playfully. "But someday, Mowg, someday they'll be beat."

"Pffff," said Benton.

"We're the kings of the races, Peter," Fenton added.

They turned quickly as Miss Sandy set a full pitcher of iced water on the counter, and bounded up to select cups for themselves. Jackson started to follow, but then noticed Matthew hanging back. "Mowg?" he called.

"Just looking," Matthew said, his voice slightly distant.

It was understandable that he was looking. The interior of Sandy Faye's apartment completely defied the exterior of the apartment building. The outside was drab red brick, faded by the weather, but the inside… well, to Matthew it seemed to be an impossible mix of hobbit hole, dwarven hall, and actual apartment, located dozens of feet off the ground.

Complete and partially done metalworks were lining different walls, some on the floor, some hanging above it. The living room was a circle of comfortably worn beanbags and a single sofa located on a thick rug, the only hint of carpet that Matthew could see. The curtains were all bright yellow, lending a cheery atmosphere to what would otherwise be a dark and forbidding environment. Matthew would have preferred more windows, but despite the many bits of metal sticking out, the place had a distinct sense of safety about it. Like whoever stayed here would be protected.

When Sandy had told Loki that Matthew was going to be in good hands, she hadn't been exaggerating. Of course, Matthew was unaware that she had told Loki this, just as he was unaware that protection was even going to be needed this night.

"To paraphrase Tink, are you going to stand there gawping all day, or are you going to come get some dinner?" Jackson had waited off to the side while Matthew took in his surroundings, but the older boy wasn't exactly renowned for his patience. Matthew stirred and turned to face Jackson again, but then took a few steps back as Wakahisa strode in through the door, with Thurston close behind.

"Thanks for grabbing the packs," Matthew said. Wakahisa grunted, and Thurston gave no response. Matthew winced as he remembered that the teenager couldn't hear him.

"Hey, Fio, are Fox and Dan in?" Jackson asked, spinning slightly to avoid getting run over by the taller boy.

"Fox opened his big mouth again," Wakahisa said bluntly. He dumped the pack he had been carrying on the sofa; Thurston shook his head and picked it up, slipping somewhere deeper inside of the apartment. "He's at his house, healing up. Dan is out on a family picnic."

Jackson snorted and looked over at Matthew. "Dan never misses out on an opportunity for free food," he explained. "It's gotten us into more than one debacle over the years."

Jackson, Matthew, and Wakahisa all turned sharply as two loud beats on the counter caught them off guard. Benton and Fenton had finished their glasses of water, and now rushed past the other boys to get to the living room. Fenton considered which beanbag to take, and Benton promptly tackled him to the floor. They seemed perfectly content to duke it out on the rug, snorting laughter as they wrestled.

Thurston came back in, glanced at his battling "siblings," and picked up a book from the counter, hopping over the back of the sofa nestle himself in the cushions as he turned to the place where his bookmark was set. He was completely unbothered by the noise.

Wakahisa looked at the Twins, shook his head, then went over to the counter and poured himself a glass of water as well. He talked with Miss Sandy in a low voice as she moved through the kitchen, lining up ingredients for what looked like would be some incredible sandwiches. At one point she chuckled and drummed on his spiky head, startling a squawk out of the teenager.

"So, how many of you Lost Boys are there?" Matthew asked as Jackson passed him a glass of water as well. The cup was cold in his hand, the ice bumping up against the edges.

"We're not the Lost Boys," Jackson corrected him—a little sharply, Matthew thought. The redhead reached for the water pitcher again. "That's, uh, that's one of the things that got missed in the transition from history to fairytale. As for our numbers, there's eleven of us in all, including Tink. You've already met me, of course, and Tink, Fio, Thurs, and the Twins. Fox and Dan aren't here today. We haven't found the Trio yet—that's Rick, Jay, and Tim—but they've always been sneaky little fellas."

"I say it's good riddance," Wakahisa grunted. He frowned. "Those three were never straightforward. Couldn't be sure you could trust them with anything."

"Hey, I know Rick's giggle always got on your nerves, and Jay's even more aggressive than you are, and nobody ever knows what goes on in Tim's head, but they've always pulled through for us," Jackson pointed out. He took a sip from his almost too-full glass. "So I say they earned our trust a long time ago. Even if they do come up with some craziest ideas."

Wakahisa frowned again, shaking his head as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Matthew watched him with a measure of curiosity, wondering what it was that had turned Wakahisa so distrustful. "I'm guessing this is an old argument," he said to Jackson. His friend nodded before taking a few more swallows from his water.

"I win!" Benton shouted after pinning his twin. Fenton scowled into the rug, then flipped himself and his twin over, and it was another round of wrestling. Thurston pulled his feet up onto the sofa to avoid getting hit by the rolling knot of apparent youngsters.

Jackson hopped up on one of the stools—the long counter framing the kitchen made Matthew think of Granny's Diner—and gestured for Matthew to do the same. The younger boy hesitated, then looked up at Jackson. "You said you knew a spot where we could talk."

Jackson seemed to feel somewhat guilty about the reminder. "Yeah, I was kinda hoping you'd forget about that," he admitted. He sighed and slid off the stool, keeping his glass of water with him. "Follow me, Mowg."

They left the apartment, and Matthew's ears rang with the silence in the narrow hall. Jackson took him back to the stairwell, and they continued up. Jackson turned the handle of the door they found at the end, the very top of the staircase, and Matthew helped him push it open.

He immediately wished he hadn't brought his iced water with him, because the wind at the top of the apartment building was very cold. Matthew was glad he hadn't decided to take off the motorcycling jacket that had been lent to him. Jackson, on the other hand, seemed to be very comfortable out in the open wind. But not comfortable with the impending conversation.

"What's the deal with Henry?" Matthew asked. He reached up to pull a few stray hairs from his lips, but paused.

He could see that lapse again, the brief flash of panic in Jackson's eyes before it was covered up. He was fast, just like Mr. Hemming. Jackson held his silence as he went to the edge of the roof and sat on the short wall lining it. "It's… a long story," he said at last. His hand went to his side—Matthew could tell it was an instinctive movement—and it stayed there. "What makes it worse is that I don't know a lot of it."

"You looked like you had seen a ghost when I introduced you to Henry," Matthew said, joining Jackson by the wall but not sitting down. The wind shrieked in his ears, almost stealing his voice. "How come?"

"Because I know him," Jackson replied. "Or at least, someone from my past knows him."

"And that someone from your past would be…"

Jackson shook his head. He was trying to keep his emotions in check, but Matthew could see his rising terror. Whoever this person Jackson had known was, they were really, really bad news. "Let's just say I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure it and Henry never meet," Jackson finally answered. "My boys will do the same."

"It?"

Jackson's eyes widened, as though he had just slipped up. Matthew had a feeling that _it_ wasn't something he had been meant to hear. He turned at the sound of the rooftop door opening, and frowned a little as he saw Thurston on the other side. This was not a good time to be interrupted.

"Thurston, what is it?" Jackson asked, signing at the same time. Thurston gave a speedy response, and Jackson nodded. "Okay, tell her we'll be right down."

Thurston left. Matthew looked over at Jackson. "I guess this means our conversation is gonna have to wait," he said dryly.

"Tink's got dinner all ready," Jackson explained. He stood up, but didn't go for the door. Instead, he put a hand on Matthew's shoulder, holding his friend's gaze. "Mowg, you're my friend and I do trust you. Don't think I don't. But some things… some things you're better off not knowing. I know I'd be."

"Your gang knows," Matthew pointed out. He didn't like that Jackson was keeping him out of the loop. They were best friends, weren't they?

"My gang was there, and that's the only reason they know," Jackson replied. "There's a lot of history here, Mowg, and not all of it is for me to tell. This cat can't be let out of the bag. At least, not yet."

It wasn't about trust, Matthew realized. It was about protection. Jackson was an alpha, no question, and he was looking after everyone in his pack. He nodded reluctantly, showing that he understood, and together they went back down to the apartment.

* * *

Loki smiled a little as the diner came into view. It was almost that feeling of coming home, but not quite. While the rooms up on the second floor were certainly well accommodated, and comfortable, they were only temporary. If Loki looked over, he could see the clock tower rising up from the library's main structure. _There_ was home.

More vehicles were driving along the main road than usual. Loki knew that the construction workers were going home—he had made it clear that he didn't want anyone pulling late hours, when they could be resting or spending time with their families.

The librarian noticed a young woman with the same destination in mind as he. He intended to hold the door for her, but she got there before he did and held the door for him instead. A wave of warm air rolled out from inside of Granny's, carrying layers of smells from the diner's kitchen. Loki nodded politely to the woman as he gave his thanks, and it occurred to him that he knew her, though he couldn't quite place her name. She was often seen accompanying Rumplestiltskin, though Loki was told she was of a demeanor completely opposite to the imp's.

"You're Loki, right?" the woman asked, stepping further into the diner as she let the door close behind the both of them. She had a kind smile, rather like some other people Loki had known over the years.

"I am indeed," Loki replied. He noted that Ruby wasn't at her usual place behind the counter before turning his full attention to his conversation partner. "Though I must confess I am at something of a disadvantage, miss. You know my name, but I do not know yours."

"Oh! I'm Belle." The woman smiled again as she introduced herself, offering a hand. Loki thought to himself that she was very deserving of the name. "We've, em, we've actually met before, a few times."

"Yes." Loki glanced away, his features dropping in a slightly ashamed manner. "I wasn't exactly courteous on those occasions."

"Lillian tells me you're pretty different when Rumple's not around," Belle said. Loki's eyes snapped back to her, and he wondered how she and Lillian knew each other. Also, how and why Belle could speak of Rumplestiltskin without any bitterness tainting her words.

"Oh, this is perfect!" Loki turned as Ruby came to join him and Belle. The waitress seemed more relaxed than she had been this morning, and that was a welcome sight. "I was hoping to introduce the two of you," Ruby explained. "Tom, this is Belle, and Belle, this is Tom Hemming. Or Loki. But I guess you've already gotten each other's names by now."

Loki and Belle both nodded. Loki noted her lack of a second name, or perhaps Ruby simply didn't know it. "Anyways, Tom, Belle is currently looking for employment," Ruby continued. "She loves books, so I suggested that she talk to you."

"Ah, I see." Loki ran an assessing glance over Belle. It seemed possible that she was the right one for the job, but Loki knew better than to place his trust in appearances. Also, there was her close association with Rumplestiltskin to consider. Loki and Rumplestiltskin were not on pleasant terms with each other, to say the least.

Granny Lucas' distinct, snapping voice rose over the noise of the diner, calling Ruby. "That's my cue," Ruby said, and for a moment Loki could see the panic on her face again. Then she had calmed herself once more, and left to attend whatever duties she was currently needed for.

Loki and Belle seated themselves across from each other at one of the booths. "I guess it's a little too early for me to be talking to you about this job," Belle said apologetically. "Since the library is still under construction—"

"No, it's alright, Miss Belle," Loki assured her, and was surprised that he had reacted in such a way. Belle seemed to radiate goodness, and Loki found himself inclined to respond in a similar manner. Hm. That was perplexing. "You are simply the first person to approach me," he went on to explain. "I shall have to get to know you better before making any decisions, of course. And apparently you have already met Lillian."

"Oh, she's a wonderful woman," Belle bubbled, and Loki knew from the brightness in her eyes that this compliment was genuine. Then Belle paused, seeming to recall something. "Also, the first person here who hasn't been put off by my relationship with Rumple."

"Relationship?" Loki repeated. His eyes narrowed, pale orbs glittering with an emotion that couldn't quite be identified. It certainly wasn't good, whatever it was.

"Why do you hate Rumplestiltskin so much?" Belle wondered. It was almost painfully obvious that she had no idea. "He doesn't feel the same way about you."

"I have arrangements for this evening," Loki said abruptly, not answering her question. "Unfortunately, Miss Belle, we must continue this discussion at another time. I am available tomorrow morning, perhaps you would like to meet at nine o'clock?"

"A-alright," Belle stammered. She hadn't been expecting the sudden change of subject.

"Excellent," Loki said curtly, rising to his feet. "I shall see you again then."

He practically fled upstairs. _That was rude, Loki,_ he chided himself after he locked his door. But he couldn't stand to be down there for another moment. Belle was a good soul, a blind man could see that, but her constant mentioning of Rumplestiltskin, and the fact that she had actually asked _why_ Loki despised him so…

Belle was not someone Loki wanted to subject to his wrath. She didn't deserve that, even if she was ignorant. The librarian decided that the first order of business tomorrow morning would be a sincere apology. And perhaps an early tour of the still-incomplete library.

Loki sighed and stepped away from where he had been leaning on the door, and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He would have just enough time for a shower before meeting with Balder for dinner.

* * *

Balder was already seated in one of the booths when Loki came down, and he looked rather comfortable there. He was browsing through one of two menus on the table while he waited. The town beyond the windows was steadily darkening as the sun sank down, signaling the end of another day.

It felt strange to remember that only a few weeks ago, the youngest Odinson had been no more than a distant memory in Loki's mind. A character in the back of his head that he rarely, if ever, gave thought to. And now, here he was, growing more and more integrated into Loki's life. Norns knew he certainly hadn't seen that coming.

"Loki!" The former prince looked up sharply as Balder called his name. The younger Asgardian lifted his eyebrows playfully. "If you keep standing there, I'm going to order you the greasiest item this menu has to offer."

"Spare me the fate," Loki muttered. He strode across the diner to join Balder, who smiled warmly in greeting. The librarian shrugged off his jacket and set it down next to him as he slid into the booth.

"A three-piece suit to dinner?" Balder questioned, passing the second menu to Loki. Obviously he had been learning more names for Midgardian fashions, among other things. "I suppose some habits do decease hard, as Midgardians say."

"Die hard, Balder. They say die hard." Loki unbuttoned his cuffs so he could roll up his sleeves. He certainly didn't want to get sauce on his suit. "And at least it isn't an entire array of symbolic armor." He grimaced. "I always hated those ceremonial events."

"They were a pain, weren't they?" Balder chuckled as he recalled. His amusement faded then, concern taking the lighthearted emotion's place. "How's the temperature, Loki, has it changed any?"

"I haven't been paying it much mind," Loki said dismissively. This was a lie, of course—he had been thinking of the mysterious rise in his temperature with annoying frequency. He flipped open his menu and flipped through it absently. "It's probably dropped already."

"If you say so." Balder frowned, and before he could continue any further, Loki cut in.

"How are things faring at home? Is there a due date for yours and Julia's child?"

"The due date of something of a mystery," Balder confessed. "It will be soon, that much is certain. Although…" A sheepish grin slowly spread across the Asgardian's face. "Julia wasn't terribly pleased to learn that the duration of Æsir pregnancies is about three years."

Loki burst out laughing, and made no effort to contain himself. Balder reddened with embarrassment. "So _that's_ why Julia kicked you out of the house," Loki chortled. "Understandable, that she would be so flustered."

"Flustered? You call a rolling pin to the face flustered?" Balder countered. His indignant tone didn't quite match the silly grin he now wore.

"I see the banter has already started," Ruby noted as she approached their booth. Loki was surprised to see that she was still on duty; it was sunset now, after all, and it wouldn't be long before the moon rose. "Okay boys, what can we do you for?"

"Lasagna dinner, please," Balder started. Loki was unsurprised by his selection. "And some stout to go with."

"I'll need some ID," Ruby said.

Balder stared at her in confusion. "Is my own face insufficient means of identification?"

Loki laughed softly. "He's seven hundred years old, Ruby, I'm fairly certain he is of eligible drinking age." He folded his menu and slid it out of the way. "I shall have lasagna as well, with a glass of red wine to accompany." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his wallet. "My ID."

Ruby checked it and gave it back, satisfied. Balder watched the exchange with a bemused expression. "Midgardians do have the strangest customs," he observed.

Loki smiled slightly as he tucked his ID back into his wallet, and offered no argument. He and Balder gave their menus to Ruby, each of them thanking her for her service.

"It's what I'm here for," the waitress replied. She tucked the menus under her arm and walked away, taking Loki and Balder's orders back to the kitchen. Loki had been considering burgers tonight, but since the lasagna was out of the freezer, he thought he would lend his aid. How _was_ Balder going to take it when he learned the truth about his beloved lasagna?

Balder slid a look over Loki's way. "That Ruby lass is rather attractive, wouldn't you say?" he remarked.

Loki stared at his little brother, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. The fever, it had to be the fever. "What _are_ you talking about?" he demanded.

Balder snickered. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Loki was relieved of the need to formulate a response when the door to Granny's Diner was nearly swung right off its hinges, and Nolan and the dwarves came tramping in, hollering with great enthusiasm. Henry and the rest of his family (excepting the more magical members) followed soon after.

Loki turned in his seat, his eyebrows quirking upward. He had not seen this particular group so ecstatic at any time in the past. "So much for a quiet dinner," he said.

"They must have made some progress at last," Balder theorized. "And if that is so, it's no wonder they're excited."

"There's no need for them to make progress so loudly," Loki grumbled, turning back around. "This is a diner, not a dwarven pub."

"Technically, since there are dwarves present…"

Loki gave Balder a sour look, but then his eye was caught by something else. Ruby was in conversation with a young man—wasn't he the driver of the town's tow truck?—and she seemed ill-at-ease. Loki's eyes narrowed, and he started to stand up.

Belle came to the rescue—Loki _really_ needed to apologize to her for what had happened earlier—and he hesitated. Ruby still looked unsettled, however, so perhaps it would be best if he talked to her. Loki left the table, disregarding Balder's teasing comment as he went. He passed Nolan and Henry, and the strange young man, before reaching Ruby. Belle had already gone.

"I suppose I'm the last person who should be reminding you that Wolfstime is at your doorstep," Loki said to Ruby. His eyes had softened in his concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, I was better for a while," Ruby replied. "That chamomile tea thing you suggested actually works."

"But now?"

Ruby sighed, worry etched deep into her features. "Someone has been… riling people up. Making them nervous. A lot of the folks in town know that I'm a werewolf, and by tomorrow I wouldn't be surprised if all of them knew."

"Do I need to talk to this someone?" Loki queried. His eyes were sharp, and Ruby had no doubt about what a "talk" with Loki would include.

"No," she said quickly. "He does make valid points, Tom. I'm dangerous. Because of the Curse, I don't know whether or not I'll have control, and—"

"—you cannot risk whatever happened to Peter happening to anyone else," Loki finished. "I understand." He placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Just remember that you're not alone, Ruby. You have many dear friends here who will stand by your side."

Ruby managed a shaky smile. "That means a lot, Tom. Thank you." She glanced down at her watch and took a breath to calm herself. "Time for me to go," she said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"See you," Loki responded, like any Midgardian would. Ruby ducked into the kitchen and didn't come back out. Loki knew he wouldn't see her for many hours yet.

He went back to his table. Just as he was sitting down—Balder was going to deliver a quip any second now—Granny Lucas herself approached the table. Balder looked between the somehow intimidating woman and his brother. "Is this the part where I say that you're the one who did it?" he asked.

Lucas ignored him. She often didn't make time for humor; it simply wasn't part of her personality. She stared down at Loki, and Loki was disturbed by the fact that he couldn't tell what it was she wanted. "We need to talk," she stated flatly.

The diner owner walked away. Loki stood back up and followed her. He hadn't even known that Lucas had an office. The woman closed the door behind him, cutting off most sound from the outside. "Well?" Loki asked.

"I need to know how much experience you have with werewolves," Lucas told Loki, in the same flat tone as earlier. She circled around her desk and remained standing. "Now."

Loki hesitated. Giving information to mortals was always tricky business. "I possess several decades' worth of personal encounters, as well as a few centuries of collected data," he replied, intentionally keeping his answer vague. "You don't have enough time for me to tell you everything."

"And you didn't think to come forward with this before?"

Loki frowned. "Simply because I am the librarian, does not mean my knowledge is for public consumption. I have a little more reservation than that. And before you ask, I find it best to not deny the Wolf its small measure of time." His eyes narrowed to harshly judging slits. "Even worse is putting it in a cage."

"Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider it," Lucas responded sharply. "But this full moon, Ruby cannot be allowed to run free. The town is on the verge of panic, and I can feel in my bones that King George is planning something."

King George? Spencer. As if it weren't enough that he was trying to drag Henry into his hunt for vengeance, now he was trying to target Ruby as well. Loki would have to have another talk with the mortal. The Asgardian paced for a moment, his features drawn tight across his face. Finally he stopped, staring across the office space at Lucas. This was such a stuffy little room.

"Yes, it can be done," he confirmed, though with extreme reluctance. "But I would need my magic unbound in order to do it, and as you well know, that is not the case. However, I do suspect that the process is damaging to the Wolf's psyche."

"The Wolf doesn't have much psyche to damage," Lucas pointed out.

Loki cocked an eyebrow, restraining his inclination to scoff. "This is why I'm the one with centuries' worth of knowledge, Lucas," he said. "I can't help you. If I could, you know that I would."

"But do I know that?" Lucas challenged. Her eyes flashed, and Loki was grateful that he had not encountered this woman at a younger age. "Do I really?"

"No," Loki replied evenly. "I suppose you do not." He felt his frustration take a sudden increase. "And since that is the case, Lucas, why ask for my help at all? You know my recent history, what I did to this world. In the eyes of many I am a lost cause; in the eyes of many more I am evil incarnate. I am not a hero, Lucas, and I have never pretended to be one. You already know this. So why, if you distrust me so, do you ask for my aid?"

"Because I'm desperate!" Lucas snapped. "This is my granddaughter at risk, Loki, plus who knows how many others. And you still do what's right. You proved that when you tried to turn yourself over to Asgardian justice, repeatedly. The love of your brothers just happened to be stronger than your own self-loathing."

Loki became very, very still. So did Lucas; she knew that she had crossed a line. Loki felt as though his breath had been stolen away and his heartbeat canceled. Lucas' words roared in his ears until they became too distorted to understand.

The Jotun turned away, staring at the door. "You presume much of me, Lucas," he said quietly. "I will help Ruby in whatever way I can, but for her sake, not yours. One monster to another."

He opened the door and walked out of the office. Lucas didn't try to stop him.

* * *

"Your new friends suit you well, brother," Loki remarked to Thor as he massaged his hand. The sun was out in full force today, but it wasn't as brutal for Loki as usual, since the end of summer was almost nigh.

The friends to which Loki referred were Hogun, Volstagg, Fandral, and Sif. They and the two princes were all gathered at one of the training fields around the palace. There were several of them, but this one, a favorite haunt of Loki and Thor's, hadn't been used in several decades.

The five children (Volstagg counted as a youth) had been playing out in the field for what had to be hours by now. They had abandoned shoes and boots to romp barefoot in the grass. Thor and his friends had been tussling on and off for the whole time, but Loki had preferred to stay where the grass had been allowed to grow tall. He lay on his back amid the cool green blades and watched the sky, daydreaming.

Thor had joined him after who knew how long, his breath short after a playful scrap with one of his new friends. He plopped his big head on Loki's chest and stared up at the sky for a while too. He was too hot and stank of sweat, but Loki didn't mind.

Eventually, of course, Thor had dragged Loki out of the tall grass to play with the others. Which led to now, as Thor dropped to sit beside Loki, beaming like the sun. "Do they?" he asked. He seemed to be delighted by the fact that Loki thought he and his friends were a good combination. And they truly were.

Loki nodded to indicate that he meant what he had said, still massaging his fingers. Sif was a lot stronger than one would be inclined to believe. And faster, too—Loki was a skilled dodger, and yet she had managed to land a hit on him. All in fun, according to Thor. He seemed to have found friends who shared his love for wrestling around the place.

The hitter herself looked down at where Loki had fallen on his seat, a disappointed look on her face. "Not very impressive, is he?" she commented. Loki stopped rubbing his hand as he realized that he suddenly hurt more on the inside than on the out.

Thor shot up to his feet. "He is so impressive!" he protested, and Loki practically glowed, his toes curling in the grass in reaction to his burst of happiness. "Loki may be the greatest in combat, but he's good at lots of other things, like… like…"

Loki's hopes fell. Sif cocked an eyebrow. "Like, Prince Thor?" she prompted.

"He can change his shape!" Thor blurted out, and Loki's breath hissed between his teeth. Thor wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that, Father and Mother had said so. "Loki, he can turn himself into all sorts of things! Now _that_ is impressive, Sif."

The only thing Loki turned into now was several shades paler than he already was. "Thor, you know that Father and Mother don't like it when I change my shape," he whispered desperately. "Especially Father!"

"Oh, come on, Loki. Just this once?" Thor pleaded. He crouched beside his little brother, smiling persuasively. "You always love doing it."

There was this thing Thor did with eyes, that made them seem bigger and bluer and very sad, and it made you want to do _anything_ to make him stop looking at you like that. Loki really regretted teaching Thor this maneuver.

The younger prince sighed, hanging his head. "Alright," he said reluctantly, and Thor gleefully yanked him up to his feet.

Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun watched curiously. Thor was confident and expectant. Sif was openly skeptical, but Loki couldn't blame her for that. He hadn't exactly presented himself as an _impressive_ individual, after all.

Naturally it was her that he singled out.

Loki stood across from Sif, and his features began to change. His lips softened to a rosier shade, a mole appeared beside his nose, and his hair turned golden and lengthened well past his shoulders, twisting itself into twin braids as it did so. He grew several inches in height, and his eyes shifted from green to brown. Sif was staring at a perfect replica of herself.

Well, almost perfect. "Your clothes are still the same," Sif pointed out. "You couldn't fool anyone with a disguise like this. Not that that matters, anyway. Disguises are cowardly."

"They are not," Loki protested, and Sif flinched at the sound of her own voice. Loki smirked before allowing his features to come back to take their own place. "And changing shape is only part of it. Glamours are important too, but I haven't learned to cast those yet. Just because I am a shape changer, Sif, doesn't mean that my clothes are as well."

"Ooh, can you do me next?" Fandral asked eagerly.

"Don't you spend enough time in front of mirrors already, lad?" Volstagg questioned. Fandral stuck his tongue out at him.

Loki didn't want to be reduced to entertainment. But it had been a while since he had shape changed, and Thor was right: he did always love it. Perhaps it would fun to play the game with more people than just Thor.

Still, there was Sif. Loki didn't like Sif. And Loki pushed at the boundaries of people he didn't like. As he walked past her to get to Fandral, he murmured _peasant wench_ to her, with just the right level of disdain. Just to see what she would do.

Sif's response was immediate and incensed. She grabbed Loki by the shoulder and made to strike again, this time in earnest, and though Loki twisted, he still got a fist right to the nose. He fell to his seat for a second time, blinking up at her. He had underestimated how much fury the girl possessed.

"I will take mockery from no one!" Sif said fiercely. "Not even a prince such as you, Loki!"

Thor's eyes were wide. He had not expected this. Had not wanted this. Loki remained cool, brushing himself off as he stood back up. His nose was bleeding. "You deal mockery out readily enough," he returned. "Perhaps it is time you tasted your own poison."

"You little snake," Sif snarled.

This was not the first time Loki had been called this. It was, however, the first time Thor had heard it. Loki knew this from the sound of his brother's sharp gasp. "Sif, Loki, please stop," he entreated them. "Make peace with one another. We were all going to play a game, remember?"

"Yes, Sif, let's play the game," Fandral said a small voice. Hogun watched silently; Volstagg was clearly distressed. Loki and Sif only continued to stare at each other. It was obvious that neither of them were going to back down.

"Look, Loki, there's Lady Sigyn," Thor said desperately. "Perhaps she would like to join the game, too. Why don't you ask her?"

This broke Loki's focus. He looked like someone who had just come up for air, after staying under the water for too long. The boy turned, looking over at where Sigyn could be seen. She was walking with one of the Einherjar on the far edge of the field. She paused a moment, tossing her head back to laugh.

"Who is Lady Sigyn?" Sif asked.

"Loki's caretaker," Thor explained.

"My friend," Loki corrected him. He sounded distant. The mention of Sigyn had brought him over to a different trail of thought.

"Loki still has a _nursemaid?_" Sif scoffed. "Aren't you nearly seventy?"

Loki bristled. Thor made an anxious noise in the back of his throat. "My parents, the King and Queen of Asgard, invest in my future," Loki said sharply. "They intend to give my brother and I the best raising possible. Obviously something your own parents aren't bothering with, Sif."

"Yes, because they actually care enough about me to spend time with me!" Sif snapped.

Loki became very, very still. Sif's handful of words had driven the breath out of his lungs more effectively than any blow. "You dare," he whispered, voice shaking. "You _dare._"

Sif knew that she had gone too far. Much too far. Regret stabbed from within, but it was for nothing. She couldn't undo what she had already done.

"Loki—" Thor started.

But Loki spun around and fled, refusing to let anyone see him cry. Especially Sif. And because he never looked back, he never saw the stricken expressions on the faces of Thor and his friends. Especially Sif.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author's notes:_ **And now the ball finally begins to roll! Dramaaaaaa

Sorry for the great delay in updates, so here, have a super long chapter! :D Also, my apologies for any delays in responding to reviews! I read and appreciate every one, it's just that things have been a little hectic lately, and I haven't yet had the opportunity to give these reviews the replies they deserve (Batman, what are you doing here?).

**_Warnings:_** Violence, and lots of gore. Character death.

* * *

_For I have returned. To have. My. Vengeance._

-Star Trek: Into Darkness (dun dun DUN!)

* * *

There had once been days when Loki was far too absorbed in his own issues to notice those of anyone around him. Those days weren't so very long ago, but a person can change a great deal in a short time. Even while Loki mulled over what Granny Lucas had said, trying not to get destructively angry, his eye was caught by Balder.

The young Æsir hadn't seen Loki yet. He was staring into the foaming mug of stout that had been set in front of him upon the table, a frown tightening his features. It was during moments like these when it seemed that Balder was the eldest Odinson, not the youngest. Loki pushed aside the thoughts of his conversation with Lucas, deciding to sort those out another time. He took the last steps required to reach the booth, dodging several dwarves as he did so.

"Something troubles you," the librarian stated as he sat down at the booth for the third time that evening. Balder glanced up at him before turning his eyes back to the nearly-black stout occupying his stein. Loki's nose wrinkled a little as the sharp smell poked its way up his nostrils.

"Ever the sensitive one, Loki," Balder noted. It didn't hold the derision that Loki had known such remarks to have. Balder curled his fingers around the handle of his mug, seeming to consider taking a swig. "I'm not troubled, exactly, just… restless. Staying in one place has never been for me."

"Does Julia agree with you?" Loki asked. He noticed that his glass of red wine had arrived while he had been with Lucas in her office. It was chilled. Loki frowned.

Balder stopped almost mid-swallow, setting his mug back down. The stout sloshed within the constraints of the stein, not a drop spilling over the edge. "She talked to you, didn't she," Balder said. He sounded bitter.

Loki was surprised. Until a few minutes ago, he had thought that all was well with Balder and his wife. Now came the part where he had to tread very, very carefully. "Nay, she hasn't spoken with me," he told Balder. "Would it be too intrusive of me to inquire what the problem is?"

"I can't find contentment in any place, Loki," Balder said, aggravated. His fingers tightened on the handle of his mug, and Loki opened his mouth to warn of the fracturing glass. "For me, that exists only on the open road. I'm a Questor! Julia used to understand that."

Loki winced. He could hear the structure of the stein's handle crumbling under Balder's grip. It lent a tense atmosphere to what was otherwise a loud and happy scene. The dwarves and their royals were all laughing and chatting amongst themselves where they were sitting along the length of the bar. Henry and Sheriff Swan were separate from the group, talking quietly at the table they had chosen along the wall.

"It's all thanks to this Curse," Balder continued, his resentment plain. "Julia can't leave Storybrooke. She doesn't even want to, and she doesn't me to leave, either." He growled, withdrawing his hand from the stein (Loki concealed his relief) in order to tug at his cropped hair in frustration. "Sköll curse it, Loki, I can't fathom what goes on in her head! _Women._"

"Lady troubles?" Balder and Loki both looked up, and Loki's eyes narrowed slightly at the unfamiliar waitress who was standing at their table. She carried a tray with two separate dishes upon it, both lasagna. The waitress smiled, sweeping loose strands of her blonde-highlighted bangs out of the way. When her eyes met Loki's, she blanched. "But, um, that's none of my business, of course. Sorry, sirs. Um, here are your dinners."

She set a plate in front of each of the brothers, tucking the now-empty tray under her left arm. The lasagna's bright red sauce stood out in contrast to the soft white of the dishes, and Balder released a slight hum as the scents of his favorite Midgard dinner put him somewhat more at ease. The waitress jerked her hand away from Loki after she set his plate down, as though she was afraid that he was going to burn her.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, glancing nervously over at Loki. She chewed on a rose-painted lip, trying to bring forth a smile for Balder. Loki observed her fearful behavior with an odd mix of disappointment and curiosity.

"This shall more than suffice," Balder assured the waitress. She nodded and reluctantly turned to Loki. He told her much the same, but stopped her before she had a chance to leave. Her eyes flared in alarm as his fingers brushed her wrist.

"Query," Loki started, calmly bringing his hand back to settle on the table. "Is the diner going to be closing soon?"

"Y-yes," the waitress stammered. Now that she was actually facing Loki, he could see that her nametag read _Yun_. "The Lucases are working on a project overnight, I don't know what exactly…"

"Well enough," Loki replied. "You have told me plenty, Miss Yun. Thank you." He dipped his head in a slight nod to indicate that she was free to go. He watched as Yun practically fled from the booth, again feeling the strange mixture of disappointment and curiosity.

Loki and Balder remained silent. Balder picked up a fork and knife, slicing and eating his lasagna in steady succession. Loki's own fork spun aimlessly between his fingers as his thoughts wandered. His gaze went to the doorway leading into the back of the diner. Somewhere back there was Ruby, locking herself in a cage in vain hopes that she wouldn't bring harm to anyone.

_Vain_ hopes? Where had that thought come from? Loki stirred, giving his fork a last spin before poking it half-heartedly into his lasagna. It wasn't that the lasagna wasn't appetizing—the warm smells of cheese, sauce, meat, and noodles had blended together fantastically, and the mere sight of it was enough to make a food critic drool, yet Loki still couldn't focus on the deliciousness waiting for him on his plate.

The news of this conflict between Balder and Julia was unsettling, but the librarian wasn't overly concerned. He knew Balder and Julia, and Julia's mother even more so, so he had no doubts that this storm was one that would be weathered. Much more unsettling, however, was the borderline terror of the young waitress, Yun. She behaved as if she expected Loki to strike her down.

It was almost the same way Loki had seen people look at his fa—at Odin. He had never thought the day would come when someone would look at _him_ like that. But why should he be surprised? He was a Frost Giant, after all, and with all that he had done to Manhattan…the fear, the hatred, he had long since earned it.

Somehow Loki's eyes and Balder's met. The librarian abruptly decided that he couldn't bear the silence between them any longer.

"You said something about a cave—"

"I just realized that I never asked—"

They stopped. Loki felt a hint of a chuckle in his throat as he realized that he and Balder had been thinking the same thing. He waved his hand toward his junior. "You first."

"I just realized that I never asked what Matthew's former identity was," Balder said. Loki tapped his lip to indicate that Balder had sauce spread on his, and Balder quickly licked it off. "I don't mean to pry, of course. It's just that I think I may have met him before the Curse, but I can't remember."

"The visually younger residents of Storybrooke tend to be more open with their identities," Loki informed Balder. He picked up a knife and started cutting his lasagna into relatively neat slices. "Matthew's pre-Curse name is Mowgli. He is a principal character in a collection of stories referred to as _The Jungle Book._ He's mentioned a few from his first home: his pack, the village he was living in when the Curse struck, Baloo the bear, Bagheera the black panther…"

"Bagheera?" Balder nearly dropped his fork in his haste to put it down. It clattered loudly against the plate, lasagna sliding off the prongs. Balder didn't seem to realize that sauce had splashed onto his shirt as well as his face. "Are you sure he said Bagheera?"

"Yes," Loki replied slowly. He set his fork down as well, albeit more gently than his sibling had. Balder looked as though a ghost had sprung into being right before him, his eyes wide and hands shaking. "What of it? As Midgardians say, spit it out."

Balder propped his elbows up on the table, resting his chin on interlaced thumbs. He seemed to be struggling to breathe; Loki hadn't seen his brother this disturbed in all the time he had known him. "Bagheera… I knew him," the Questor stammered. "Know him. I…" He buried his face in his hands, fingertips digging into his scalp. "Norns, what have I done?"

"Balder." Loki pushed aside the plates and drinks, reaching across the table to grab his brother's shoulder. The Asgardian didn't look back up at him. "Tell me."

"Bagheera and I met barely a day before the Curse was cast," Balder began. He pulled his hands away from his face, overlapping one fist with another hand and tucking them under his nose. "We were with each other when time froze, forced to watch as we both lost someone we loved."

"Julia and Mowgli," Loki murmured. He withdrew his hand from Balder's shoulder, resting his forearms on the table.

"He never stopped talking about that boy," Balder recalled. His voice sounded distant. "He ransomed Mowgli as a babe, purchasing his life with a bull. I can't believe I didn't realize that your Matthew was _him._"

Loki was intrigued by Balder's belief that Matthew was his, but he knew that now was not the time to speak. Instead, he waited for Balder to continue, absently picking at the cuff of his sleeve.

"You know that I was imprisoned by the stone curse, but you don't know all of the circumstances." Balder unconsciously imitated Loki's posture, straightening up and setting his forearms down on the table. "Before I took on the curse of Thor and others, before Thor came from Asgard looking for me, Bagheera and I encountered Stonebreath for the first time.

"We came to what had been a farmer's home. Every living thing had been turned to stone—livestock, rodents, and the farmer's entire family. Even insects." Balder shuddered. "Graveyards are as crowded marketplaces compared to that place, Loki. The silence was… unnatural. It felt like Death itself was dwelling there."

Balder fell silent, staring fixedly down at the table. A distant part of Loki noted the exit of Henry and Sheriff Swan, while Nolan and his bride stayed with the dwarves. "Keep going, Balder," the librarian prompted gently.

"It came up from behind," Balder said. His eyes were slightly glazed, reliving dark memories. "I knew the creature was abnormal, whatever it was, but it was Bagheera who made the connection first. When I was only just putting it together, Bagheera leaped to knock me to the side, and…" Guilt twisted Balder's features, seeming to add centuries of regret. "The curse was intended for me, Loki, it was aimed at _me._ And Bagheera was the one who was caught up instead."

Loki knew there was more. He waited.

"The method I used to save Thor and the others no longer exists," Balder continued. "And it wasn't truly enough to begin with. It came down to a final two, and I had to choose." His eyes closed for a moment, and Loki was startled to see tears catching on Balder's cheeks. The Questor opened his eyes again, staring directly at Loki. "You know who I chose."

The gaze challenged Loki to hate him. No, it begged. And Lucas had said that Loki was self-loathing. _For Hati's sake, Loki, you promised yourself not to think of that right now._ "It had to be Thor," Loki reminded Balder. "Not so much a choice, when you think about it." He leaned back in his seat, brow creasing as his fingers laced together. "You're going to have to tell Matthew."

The panic was evident on Balder's face. But Matthew had to be looked out for far more than a seven-hundred-years-and-some Asgardian.

"Bagheera is dead, Balder, the boy must know the truth," Loki continued. "Just as he must hear it from you. You are the one who was present, after all."

"Bagheera isn't dead," Balder stated. Loki realized with a hint of dread that he actually believed it. "I have to save him. I promised that I would save him, Loki, and I will! I am a Questor, this is what I do."

"What about Julia?"

Balder wouldn't meet Loki's eyes. "She'll understand."

"Your wife is a patient creature, Balder, but I would not test her tolerance," Loki warned. "The kindest people can give the harshest backhands."

Balder gave no answer, rising abruptly from his seat and walking away. Loki did _not_ like the look that had entered the younger Asgardian's face. He grabbed his jacket and launched after the Æsir, catching him outside the door. The air beyond the confines of the diner was almost shockingly cold. Loki didn't notice.

"Balder, Bagheera is dead," Loki said flatly. He held his brother's eyes. "This quest… what you seek to accomplish is _impossible._"

Balder jerked his elbow out of Loki's hold. "I have done the impossible before."

"I can assure you, Balder, that you have not." Loki's fingers couldn't decide between being loose or being fists. He released a slow breath in an attempt to steady himself. "I will not deceive Matthew. Not for you. If you refuse to tell him, then know that I will tell him myself."

"You won't need to," Balder replied. Loki nearly growled at the ignorant confidence of his words. He was still so naïve. "I am a Questor, Loki—"

"But you are also a husband!" Loki snapped. Balder's eyes widened. Loki knew he was crossing into forbidden territory, but honestly, he no longer cared. "It's not about you and what you want anymore, about your _career._ You have responsibilities now. You have a daughter who is going to be born any day. We endured centuries of absent parents, Balder, how can you even consider abandoning your wife and child in the same way?!"

"I am _not_ abandoning them!" Balder roared. He had charged Loki, pushing him back, and Loki knocked over one of the bistros and three chairs as he was thrown off balance. "I'm not abandoning anyone! I have to do this, Loki. I owe him."

"You should focus less on your debts and more on your family," Loki said harshly. He pulled himself back up to his feet, crouching for a moment to pick up his jacket again. The scattered furniture he would attend to later. "Bagheera is dead, Balder. Some promises can never be fulfilled."

"I am not going to leave him!" Balder snapped back. Loki stomach twisted at the sound of the desperation and determination that had woven together in his voice. Before he could say anything further, buy some time at least, Balder had turned and stormed away.

Loki growled in frustration, kicking a chair across the diner's outdoor area. _Odinsons._ He turned sharply as movement caught at the corner of his eye. It was one of the dwarves; Loki had heard him referred to as Happy. He seemed rather nervous now.

"Hey," he said, and pointed back at the diner with his thumb. He didn't seem to be sure whether he should be looking at the overturned chairs and tables, or over at Loki. "Are you going to eat that lasagna inside, or…?"

"Help yourself," Loki told him curtly. The dwarf nodded and left hastily, glancing back over his shoulder occasionally. Loki stepped further away from the diner. He'd pay for the dinners later, but right now the thought of dealing with people was undesirable, to say the least.

The librarian ended up under the archway leading into the outdoor dining area. With spring on its way, Loki could see the vines had returned to their familiar places with new growth. He frowned, pulling at the collar of his shirt. It was uncomfortably warm out tonight.

Someone stepped up behind his elbow. Loki decided it was Ruby. There wasn't anyone else around Storybrooke who would come so close to him while remaining so quiet. There certainly wasn't anyone else with the nerve to do it.

"Balder takes them for granted," Loki fumed. "Even though he was often overlooked, he never experienced true spite in his childhood or youth. I took that for him." He made a disgusted noise upon realizing that tears were slipping down his cheeks. Sentiment, it had always been his greatest weakness. "It is maddening to see him treat love so… _callously._"

"I wouldn't say that Balder is callous in response to the love of his family," Loki's companion replied. "He simply finds it difficult to believe that there are people who would actually miss him if he were gone."

Loki whipped around. Mr. Gold inclined his head in greeting, his hands placed neatly atop the handle of his cane. Loki's lips pulled back to reveal a furiously hostile snarl.

"Get. Away. From me."

Mr. Gold obliged, taking three uneven steps back, his limp altering the scampering gait Loki had long associated the imp with. Loki's snarl eased, but his eyes remained just as fierce. He thought briefly of the number of small blades secured in the back of his vest, but knew they would be useless. It would take much more than a mere blade to destroy the Dark One.

"Good evening, Loki," Mr. Gold said, sounding ever so courteous. Loki considered the knives again. "Or do you prefer Tom?"

"You do _not_ call me by that name, snake," Loki spat. His fingers had curled; not into fists, but into claws.

The imp's head tilted curiously. The light from within Granny's Diner lit only one side of his face, causing his right eye to glint from the shadows. The sparse lighting made his features seem even more crooked and sharply-edged. "Why shouldn't I?" Mr. Gold questioned. "I'm the one who gave it to you, after all."

"Why are you here, Rumplestiltskin?" Loki demanded. "Whatever it is that you want, I can tell you right now that you won't receive it from me."

"I was merely out for an evening stroll," Mr. Gold said mildly. Loki saw him glance over at the diner, at Belle chatting with one of the dwarves inside, and quickly summarized Gold's true reasons. What was the Midgardian term? _Creeper._ "You seemed troubled after your conversation with your brother." Mr. Gold's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be inspecting Loki. "In fact, you don't look well at all."

The Dark One as well? Loki tried to keep the alarm from showing on his face, but he knew that the brief second it had been there would be enough for Rumplestiltskin to see. If it weren't for Balder's and Matthew's observations earlier, he would disregard the imp entirely, but… three times. Three times meant there was definitely a problem.

Not that Mr. Gold needed to know that. "I'm fine," Loki snapped. "And besides, my wellbeing is obviously no concern of yours." He turned his back on his old friend, stepping out from under the arch.

"You assume much of me, Loki."

A grin appeared, the one that sprang up on Loki's face when he was angry and hurt and wanted nothing more than to rip apart whoever was responsible. He stopped and turned back around to face the pawnbroker, his fingers wrapping tightly over the top of the white fence around the front of the diner. "No," he replied, chuckling bitterly. "I used to assume much of you. I learned the hard way that I was wrong." He lifted a hand up to his chest, where a curse-written heart beat underneath. His grin hadn't wavered. "Remember?"

Something that looked like guilt weighed down on Rumplestiltskin, but Loki was certain that the Dark One had no remorse for his deeds. Otherwise, he would have reversed the curse on Loki long ago. "I would stay home tonight, Loki," the imp advised. His voice was oddly soft, and for some reason that rankled Loki all the more. "Rest. There's a bad air out tonight."

"Foresight, Rumplestiltskin?" Loki made his contempt plain as he scoffed. He released his grip on the fence and gestured dismissively as he turned his back on the imp again. "I make my own fate."

"That may be true, Loki," Mr. Gold called after him. "But there are only so many strands you can avoid in the Norns' tapestries."

Loki's stride faltered for a moment, but he drew himself up taller and moved on, pulling on his jacket as he did so. Mr. Gold watched him go, a concerned frown pulling away his usual, disconnected exterior. He looked over as the dwarves and a few last customers were evicted by Granny, who was closing down the diner for the night, just as he had expected.

The Dark One slipped away before anyone else saw him, though he didn't realize that Belle hadn't failed to notice his presence. He unlocked his car's door upon reaching the vehicle, slipping the key into the ignition after sitting down. Mr. Gold paused before turning the key, looking up at the black sky and knowing that it wouldn't be long before the full moon began its climb. Then the night would really begin.

* * *

Matthew was not fond of the cold. In fact, he and the cold had a distinctly unfriendly relationship. For nine years of his life, _cold_ had been somewhere around seventy degrees. Fahrenheit. Then the Curse had dropped him into Storybrooke, Maine along with a whole bunch of others, and now _cold_ had a whole new meaning.

Yet, despite all of his dislike toward chilly temperatures, Matthew was enjoying himself. All of the boys had gathered up on the roof. According to Jackson, they were going to spend the whole night up there. Matthew would have been worried if it weren't for Miss Sandy's immediate provision of blankets and hot water bottles. She knew how to look after her boys, but then, she did have centuries of experience.

Benton and Fenton had declared that it was a great time for ghost stories, and so they had huddled together in a circle, cocooned in blankets with mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. Matthew liked the feeling of the steam on his face, and Jackson teased him as he expressed fondness for the muggy climate of his jungle. Benton provided illumination for Thurston—though he seemed to have more fun pointing the flashlight into the other boy's face, eliciting chortles from the whole group. Thurston had a very loud laugh.

Thurston's signing was at turns swift and exceedingly dramatic. With Jackson murmuring translation into his ear, Matthew came to the conclusion that no one, ever, could tell a ghost story like Thurston Coon could. Sometimes he jumped up and acted out a scene, as if his intensely signed narration wasn't enough. Matthew's hot chocolate was hardly sufficient to combat the chills running up and down his spine. Occasionally he could hear Miss Sandy chuckling in the background.

Wakahisa must have heard this ghost story before, because after a while he retreated from the group. Matthew glanced over his shoulder, still listening to Jackson's translations, and saw that he was practicing boxing with Miss Sandy. She was definitely better than he was.

Thurston finished his ghost story. Matthew and Jackson looked at each other, laughing nervously as they said that they totally weren't scared. The flashlight was clicked off, and Matthew could hear the twins goofing off in the dark. He shrieked when someone poked him in the ribs, leaping right out of his blanket, and sputtered indignantly when he realized that it was Thurston. Everyone laughed.

"Thurston's got crazy eyesight, he and Tink are like cats in the dark," Jackson explained between snickers. Matthew's face reddened in embarrassment, and he hoped Thurston wouldn't be able to see that. He kicked Jackson, who just continued snickering.

They all curled up in different places on the roof. Matthew and Jackson were side-by-side, and Matthew wondered at the fact that Jackson had somehow achieved the feat of being a human furnace. Thurston and the twins were in a pile by the chimneys, unbothered by the smoke. Wakahisa had his back propped up against the wall surrounding the roof, and Miss Sandy was next to him, her feet hanging over the fatal drop that awaited her if she should lose her balance.

Gradually the chatter and laughter quieted, and one by one they fell asleep. The moon had risen, full and bright, and each star was beautifully clear. A rare event in this world. Matthew could hear Jackson's breath deepen as he fell deeper into slumber, but he kept drifting in and out.

As he found himself awake again, his ears ringing with the silence surrounding him, he looked across the roof at where Miss Sandy was still sitting on the wall. The stout fairy hadn't moved a muscle, her head tilted up to look at the moon. Matthew thought he could see her eyes gleaming green in the moonlight.

It was now that he noticed she had never brought a blanket up for herself. She wasn't even wearing a coat, just a thickly woven tank. The golden color of her hair had been washed out by the silver light of the moon.

As he watched her, Matthew wondered just what sort of fairy Tinkerbell was. She was different from the other fairies Matthew had met around town, the nuns. She was something wilder, more savage. What kind of person had she been, in the days before the Curse had taken her power? Was she petty, as books and films had depicted her to be? Matthew thought not.

Matthew hadn't realized Jackson was awake, too. The other boy sat up beside Matthew, following his gaze to Miss Sandy. "I don't know what sort of fairy she is, either," he confessed in a whisper. "I've asked plenty of times, but she never really answers. She's one of those fairies that came before the ones that we know now, I think. Before magic came with a price."

"Magic didn't used to come with a price?" Matthew asked. This was new to him.

"Yeah. She told me that once. Makes me wonder just how old she is." Jackson fell silent for a while, watching Miss Sandy with what seemed to be a very sad expression. "She always looks so lonely on full moons."

"Why?" Matthew asked.

Jackson just shook his head, indicating that he didn't know. Matthew was intrigued by the fact that Miss Sandy kept secrets from him, and he was alright with it. It was like him and Mr. Hemming, if Matthew thought about it. Mr. Hemming kept plenty of secrets from Matthew, but not because he didn't trust him. Maybe it was because there were things that he wished _he_ didn't know.

Maybe everyone was that way, to some extent. Matthew thought so.

Jackson laid back down, curling over on his side and pulling his blanket up over his shoulder. It didn't take him long to fall asleep again, much to Matthew's envy. The jungle part of him was so used to being active at night, rather than at rest. Matthew laid back down, too, but didn't try to go back to sleep just yet. He kept watching Miss Sandy, wondering what she was thinking about.

The fairy still hadn't moved, continuing to stare up at the moon. Her eyes reflected the orb's light back at it in vibrant shades of green.

* * *

It took Loki a few moments of blind pacing to settle down after his encounter with Rumplestiltskin. Once he was sufficiently calmed, he remembered Balder. The librarian quickly chose his route and raced for Julia's house. He had a nasty suspicion that the Asgardian was about to do something really, _really_ stupid and impulsive. Considering they shared no blood, there were times when they really did seem like brothers.

He reached the blue-painted house, though the color was washed out by the rising moon, and raised a fist to knock on the door. The sky lit with colors severely out of place on a full moon, and Loki's teeth gritted. He had wasted time in arguing with Mr. Gold, and now because of that, he had just failed to stop Balder before he proceeded with his reckless quest.

It was surprising that Balder had chosen to call upon the Bifrost, though. Perhaps he had chosen to call upon Eir for aid—after all, there was no one in any of the Nine Realms with more knowledge of remedies and cures than she. But there was no way Loki could know for certain. Now that Balder had gone beyond Storybrooke's borders, there was nothing he could do.

The librarian sighed, putting his hand on the handle of the house's door and rotating his wrist. The door was unlocked, the same as always. Loki went in, silently closing the door behind him. The only light in the house was coming from the lamp in the living room.

Julia was sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. She was alone, except for her mother's black cat curled up next to her. It raised its head to blink yellow eyes at Loki. He stayed in the shadow of the entrance into the parlor, feeling that he was intruding and probably should leave.

Julia seemed to realize that someone else had come in, and looked up. Something twisted painfully within Loki's chest as he saw the tears tracking down her face. Julia's grief quickly turned to anger. "How could you?" she cried furiously, rising up to her feet. "You're his family, and you made him run. Now I'm his family too, and he won't stop!"

"Julia," Loki started, but he knew that she was right. He hung his head, retreating further into the dark hallway. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Julia snapped. Her words were unnaturally harsh. Loki had never heard her speak to anyone like this. Then her shoulders sagged, and she used her fingers to pull away more tears. "Stop hiding in the shadows, Loki," she said, her voice softer now.

Loki reluctantly stepped into the living room. The cat was still staring at him. So far it hadn't blinked. "I'm sorry, Julia," he murmured again. "I tried to convince him that he needed to stay here."

"So did I," Julia replied. She bit her lip, massaging her expansive belly in an attempt to soothe herself. It didn't seem to be working very well. "But Balder is going to have to learn on his own. He has to learn… and I'll just have to wait until he does."

She looked back up at Loki, as though for a moment she had forgotten that he was there. Loki was used to that. They stared at each other for a moment, and Loki opened his mouth, words burning on his tongue, but for some reason he just turned away without uttering one of them.

Outside, he gazed up at the full moon. He felt no surprise as he heard the first howl pierce the air, the Wolf reveling in its newly attained freedom. He walked over the rounded stones that formed the path from the house's front door to the driveway. At the sidewalk, he looked over his shoulder, watching Julia sit back down on the couch, her hand brushing along the sleek coat of the nameless black cat. Loki wondered what she was waiting for.

The librarian slipped off his jacket, carrying it in the crook of his arm, and kept walking. He wanted to chase after Balder, to drag his ignorant younger brother back home before he hurt more people who cared about him, but of course that wasn't possible. What Loki should do was go back to the inn and rest—he was starting to feel lightheaded—but stubbornly he chose to remain outdoors, to spite Rumplestiltskin if nothing else.

Besides, the night air would probably do him some good. It had always helped with his summer fevers in the past. If it even was a summer fever that was bothering Loki…

Most of the townsfolk were already inside. In Storybrooke, most people knew better than to wander the streets on a full moon. Loki wasn't concerned, however. The moon's light was pleasant, and he had always liked how the worlds looked painted in silver, strengthening the shadows.

He paused for a moment, tilting his head back to breathe in deeply. He could hear howling again, but it was distant now. The Wolf would most likely spend the entire night deep in the woods, and be perfectly content to do so. That was usually the way with werewolves. The air was cool, easing the discomfort of Loki's temperature.

The smell of saltwater grew stronger in Loki's nostrils as he continued his walk. He was getting closer to the docks; not to his preferred location along them, but close. The former sorcerer quickly stepped back into the shadows as a truck drove past. Loki read the logo painted on the door—_Franklin's Towing & Salvage_—and remembered that the name of the young man who had been flirting with Ruby was Billy. Billy Brie. He had come to take care of Julia's car when it had been rammed by another vehicle. He and Lillian had shared a chuckle over his surname being Brie, since formerly he had been a mouse.

A mouse had been asking a werewolf out. Loki would have chuckled at the humorousness of it, but right now he didn't want to be heard. Brie's truck stopped nearby, the engine idling. The driver's door opened and then slammed shut. "Evenin', Mr. Spencer," Brie called cheerfully. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Not sure," the by-now familiar voice of Albert Spencer replied. Loki frowned, immediately getting the sense that something wasn't right here. "I had to stop to get something out of the trunk, and now my car won't start."

"Sounds like your battery is dead," Brie remarked. "I'll just get some jumper cables—"

"Oh, no need, Mr. Brie. I have some in the trunk." Loki pressed closer against the wall as Spencer came into view, walking about to the back of his car as Brie watched him. Spencer opened the trunk and then laughed, shooting an embarrassed look towards Brie. It seemed forced to Loki. "They're sort of buried… Mr. Brie, if you could give me a hand?"

"We can just use the cables in the truck," Brie said, but when Spencer insisted, he didn't argue. He came around to join Spencer, peering into the trunk. "Buried under what? W-whoa, Mr. Spencer, what are you—"

Loki's stomach dropped. He knew the sound of metal striking flesh far too well. Brie screamed, and the Jotun vaulted from the shadows, the handle of a blade already dropping into his palm.

* * *

Matthew woke up again. It was already becoming a habit to look across at where Miss Sandy was sitting, so it was startling to realize that she wasn't there. Matthew's head whipped around, and he saw that she had almost reached the door leading back down into the apartment building. "What's wrong?" Matthew whispered after her. Because something _was_ wrong, he could tell by the fairy's taut movement.

Miss Sandy looked back over at Matthew, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Her apprehension was worryingly obvious. "There's a bad air tonight," she whispered back, and her voice sounded different, old. "Stay here, Matthew. Stay with Jackson. The signs are bad for you."

With that, she opened the door and disappeared inside. Matthew squinted as the light from behind the door blinded him for a moment, then blinked for a few moments as he waited for his vision to readjust. Miss Sandy's motorcycle growled to life down below, and the sound of the engine quickly faded into the distance. Matthew wriggled his way out of his blankets, shivering in the cold, and poked Jackson until he woke up.

The redhead blinked groggily up at Matthew, and the boy was certain he was currently on the receiving end of a very disgruntled look. "Miss Sandy went off somewhere," Matthew told Jackson, trying to keep his voice down to a murmur. "She said something about there being a bad air. We should follow her."

"No."

Matthew's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Acting contrary to an adult's command was very much Jackson's _modus operandi_, so for him to so flatly refuse to act out against Miss Sandy's orders was kind of bewildering. Yes, Tinkerbell and Peter Pan went back a long way, but… Matthew had never heard Jackson say anything so tersely.

Jackson groaned as he realized that his single, grunted word wasn't enough reply for Matthew, and went on to clarify. "We've got to stay here, Mowg. I didn't listen to Tink once. I paid a heavy price for that, and I'm not just talking about my scar."

"Oh." Matthew frowned. He didn't want to just let something like this slide, but he didn't want to argue with his best friend, either. Jackson had to know what he was talking about. Reluctantly he sat back down next to the redhead, scooting a little closer as he registered just how chilly it was.

Jackson chuckled. "You really can't the cold, can you?"

"Shut up," Matthew muttered, cocooning himself in blankets. Jackson chuckled again, and Wakahisa threw a shoe at them, growling at the pair to be quiet. Jackson threw it back, somehow nailing him in the head. Wakahisa just grunted and put it back on his foot.

A smile tugged at Matthew's lips as the Twins began snoring in chorus. Jackson informed him in undertones that this meant it was officially after ten o'clock. The two boys leaned against each other, neither having any intent to go back to sleep. They watched the moon in silence, waiting for Miss Sandy to come back.

A howl pierced the air, the sad sound of a lone wolf. The steady breathing of all the boys stopped, and they made no noise as they listened. Matthew's eyebrows drew together to form an anxious expression. The Wolf was confused, distressed. She didn't understand what had happened to her, or where she was.

Next full moon, Matthew would have to help her sort things out. From the sounds of it, Miss Ruby didn't have the clearest line of communication with her other half.

* * *

It was strange to see streets so empty at night. Most towns had at least a few cars travelling along the roads at all hours, a handful of shops that were always open. Storybrooke seemed to be a rare exception. This lack of activity could prove helpful or troublesome to the man standing on top of Storybrooke's library, but that remained to be seen, like so much else.

He spared the moon a glance, frowning as he listened to the howling of some unknown wolf. It sounded… almost unnatural. Given the places his line of work had taken him, it honestly wouldn't be surprising. Aliens led by a mythical god had nearly destroyed Manhattan, after all.

Civilians never looked up. This enabled the man to move quickly from one rooftop to the next without being detected, his quiver pushing harder against his back as he rolled with his landings. Unfortunately, though, it didn't seem to matter where he went—his target wasn't to be found anywhere. The radio in his ear confirmed that the rest of his team was having the same problem.

This left only one place for him to check in his search grid: the docks. The archer took a moment to plan his route, then set out. He stopped on the roof of the last building in front of the docks and crept up to the edge.

A grim smile appeared as a lithe, familiar figure seemed to catapult from the shadows between the building he was on top of, and the one immediately to its north. There was his target, as ignorant of his position as the assassin could ever want.

"Ice King located," he murmured, knowing his earpiece would pick up his voice and instantly transmit it to the other members of his team. The archer was still puzzled by the codename assigned to their target, but he didn't waste too much time wondering about it. They couldn't call him by his real name, of course, they couldn't risk Stark's butler program picking it up.

Now he just had to wait for the rest of the extraction team to arrive, and Loki was going to get what was coming to him.

* * *

Spencer could move surprisingly fast. Loki was much faster, but right now the concern was Brie. The boy was lying on the asphalt, bleeding profusely from his chest as he groaned. Was that an _ax_ Spencer had dropped as he fled? Loki froze for a second, gaping in horror, then out of pure instinct sent the knife in his hand flying after Spencer. It struck him in the spine, instantly paralyzing him, and he dropped like a slaughtered elk. Loki ignored the old king's agonized cry.

He knelt down beside Brie, vainly trying to keep the blood in with his hands. The wound in the boy's chest was gaping, there was no way he could survive it without aid. Loki made shushing noises, trying to calm the human. He was so young, so young, why hadn't Loki moved sooner…

"O-ow," Brie stammered. He seemed surprised. And why wouldn't he be? The boy had done no act of malice to deserve this. He was just a mouse.

"Don't speak," Loki told him gently. The mortal's blood was soaking into his hands, feeling like it was burning his skin. "Conserve your energy, Mr. Brie, you're going to be alright." Lies, of course. Loki was good at that. But wasn't Mr. Brie had _Spencer_ had called him? "Billy. Look at me. You can get through this, but you must hold on. Keep your eyes open. Do you understand me?"

Billy struggled to nod. Loki reached for his phone, but all of the blood made his fingers too slick to keep a grip. The phone clattered to the pavement, and Loki wiped his hand off on his slacks before reaching to pick it back up again. He did not allow himself the luxury of a grimace as he felt Billy's blood continue to pulse out from between his fingers.

The ambulance call took only a minute, but it was a minute too long. Loki considered calling Sheriff Swan, but there wasn't enough time for that right now. He had to focus on keeping Billy alive for the three minutes it would take for the ambulance to arrive. Just three minutes.

Loki knew that three minutes was going to be too long. He knew it, felt it deep within his bones, but he pushed the certainty aside, determined to defy what was inevitable. _There are only so many strands you can avoid in the Norns' tapestries._ Loki bared his teeth, tightly gritted against each other.

He needed more than his hands to keep the blood contained. Buttons went flying as Loki ripped off his vest and shirt, putting the vest to the side and tearing the shirt's material into long, makeshift bandages. He deftly wound the material around Billy's chest, uttering apologies as the boy kept releasing sharply pitched whimpers.

"Hold on, Billy. Help is coming, just hold on."

"I'm trying," Billy murmured. "It… hurts." He had lost so much blood already; his face was beginning to lose color. Then confusion was added to Loki's mess of emotions as Billy chuckled weakly. "I guess this means I won't be getting my date with Ruby Lucas. Maybe you could… _ngh_… do it for me, huh?"

"I don't think I'm the dating type," Loki replied. His vision was blurring, and he used the back of a hand to clear it. He didn't notice the smear of crimson he left behind. "You'll just have to survive this and ask her out yourself, Billy."

"Don't think that's gonna happen." Billy's voice was barely audible. His eyes were fluttering, but still he tried to keep them open.

Loki cursed furiously. How could he be so _useless?_ Thor and his friends had taken much deadlier injuries than this, and Loki had saved them every time, but without his magic he couldn't help anyone!

He had to try. For Billy's sake, he had to. Loki closed his eyes, focusing in on the wound. _Heal._

He felt the magic shift within, sluggish after all these years of disuse. Then pain burst inside of his chest and Loki nearly lost consciousness. He curled in on himself, keeping his hands over Billy's wound—the blood had already soaked through the layers of bandages Loki had applied.

Loki struggled to regain his breath, blinking back tears as he was overcome with enraged helplessness. He couldn't do anything. All he wanted to do was save this boy, this one boy, and he couldn't. He had failed again.

"I'm sorry, Billy," Loki whispered. "I'm sorry."

But Billy was smiling. "At least I'm not alone," he murmured. His pain had faded from his voice, and he sounded strangely content. "Mice hate being alone…"

His chest stilled, brown eyes turning blank. Loki stared down at his face in silence, unable to move for his shock. The wailing sirens of the ambulance battered at his ears, but they were far, far too late.

* * *

The extraction team was in position. The team's leader frowned as he looked down at the docks in front of his location. The arrival of the ambulance was certainly a setback—orders where that witnesses were to be avoided at all costs—but so long as Loki didn't try to go with them, it wouldn't put too much of a hitch in their plans. At least the noise of the sirens enabled the archer to unlock his bow without being heard.

He watched as Loki spoke with one of the paramedics. He didn't stop staring at the young man whose body was being lifted onto a gurney. The sheet pulled over his face confirmed that he was dead. The man on the roof wondered briefly why Loki had tried to save them, then decided that he must have been some sort of accomplice.

The paramedic placed a hand on Loki's shoulder. He angrily shrugged it off, and the archer shook his head in disgust. Imagine, people trying to console _Loki._ Someone obviously didn't know who it was they were dealing with.

The paramedics picked up the second body, the one Loki had dropped, but this one was still alive. Odd, but the archer wasn't curious enough to pursue that line of thought. He just wanted to get this job done.

Finally, the ambulance left. Loki stayed behind, picking up his phone and vest, and stared out over the darkened waters of the bay.

"Remember, you move on my signal," the archer ordered his unseen team. He drew an arrow from his quiver and sighted down the shaft. Loki had tucked his phone back into his pocket and knelt down on the edge of the docks, apparently washing his hands off in the water.

The archer pulled the arrow back fully, and he smirked. "Gotcha."

* * *

After the ambulance left, Loki didn't know what to do about the silence. He could still hear the final shuddering breaths of the mortal boy, his softly spoken words. _"At least I'm alone."_ As if Loki's company was company he would have desired.

He forced himself to move, tucking the phone in one hand back into the pocket of his slacks and sliding on the vest gripped in the other. The blades concealed within were cool against his skin. He went to the edge of the one of the docks and leaned over to wash his hands.

Seawater wasn't the cleanest thing on Midgard, but Loki knew that if he didn't at least some of this blood off, he would raise a panic across the town if seen. The vest should at least prevent people from thinking he was wandering the streets shirtless.

Loki's head bowed, his shoulders hunching. Billy. Norns curse him, must he fail everyone who needed his aid? First Madge, now this… and all because of Rumplestiltskin. Loki's lips pulled back in a snarl of impotent rage, and for the first time he tasted the salt of his tears.

So he had been crying. No wonder that paramedic had tried to comfort him. Not that Loki deserved such a thing. He had _failed_, that was nothing earning the reward of comfort.

The icy water of the bay splashed over Loki's fingers. It should have felt colder. Distorted reflections of himself and his surroundings pulsed back up at him, the lights of the docks like stars on the water. There was something on one of the rooftops that looked out of place…

Loki's instincts kicked in. He rolled back from his location, and an arrow lodged more than halfway into the dock's wood. Loki spun, searching for his attacker as well as cover. There was no one to be seen, but Loki knew better than to believe that he was alone. As for cover, the closest location was Billy truck. From there he would find a more defendable location, preferably somewhere in the dark.

He made it to the truck without harm, but he could hear the whistles of arrows in flight again. Two of them slammed into the vehicle's metal while a third shot through both of the front windows, disappearing into the bay with barely a sound.

Then Loki remembered that on Midgard, arrows had a tendency to explode.

The Asgardian moved, but not quickly enough. The charges stored in the two arrows detonated, and the blast tossed Loki and flaming chunks of truck into the air. Even Spencer's car was sent rolling by the shockwave.

He was hanging in the air over the bay, and in the brief second before he started falling again, Loki angled himself into a dive and disappeared under the water. The water was cold, but not too cold for Loki. Hypothermia was a nonissue for a Frost Giant.

However, he couldn't stay under the water forever. Without magic, that wasn't even a remote possibility. Still, he would be able to put plenty of distance between himself and his attacker before having to resurface—

The depths burst with light; the third arrow. Half of Loki's air was shocked out of him as an arrow finally found its mark, tearing into the flesh of his back. He recovered quickly, putting more energy into his kicks, but another arrow hit, this time in his shoulder. And this one had a tether.

Loki was yanked backwards and hauled up to surface, the last of his air lost in a scream. He was tossed down on the dock like some harpooned whale, and the team that had pulled him up from the bay backed away, watching. Loki struggled to his feet, blinking seawater out of his eyes as he tried to identify the one man who had dared to remain close. He knew exactly who it was and really, he wasn't that surprised.

"Hawkeye," the wounded Jotun snarled, thick blood spilling onto sea-stained wood.

His hands moved faster than any of the humans had time to react to, and five knives were launched. Three met their target, hitting the archer's shoulder, chest, and leg, but the other two were evaded. If Loki had access to even a spark of magic, one blade would have sufficed.

But he was slow. The team of humans grabbed hold of the tether attached to the arrow buried in the back of Loki's shoulder and dragged him back, eliciting a strangled snarl from their captive. Hawkeye notched an arrow and had it flying before Loki had time to twist out of the way.

It slammed into his gut, and a second one hit his chest, puncturing a lung. The pain was blinding. Loki's knees slammed into the dock's heavy wood, and he groaned. His hands trembled as he reached for the shaft of the arrow lodged in his belly. It snapped easily, but it wasn't the shaft that was the problem. These arrows were injuring Loki as effectively as Æsir weapons. But that couldn't—shouldn't—be possible.

Hawkeye was watching him with cold disinterest, making no move. He didn't need to. Loki's head was reeling. His pulse throbbed at a steadily decreasing rate. Something foreign was in his system. Poison? How could humans have made a poison capable of decapitating _him?_

"Drug should have kicked in first thing," Hawkeye said to someone Loki couldn't see. "Can't trust the docs with anything these days, can we?"

Loki struggled to lift his head. He was almost prostrate by this point, his arms shaking as they tried to hold him up. Whatever it was that Hawkeye had injected into his bloodstream, it was working. The archer smirked down at defeated foe.

"Goodnight, Loki."

The features of the archer were growing increasingly distorted. The contrasts between lights and shadows became more extreme than could be possible, until darkness and brilliance dominated every aspect of Loki's vision. He collapsed onto the dock, splinters of wood digging into his cheek. A woman slipped up behind him and confirmed that their target was unconscious.

One of the members of the extraction team approached Hawkeye. Like everyone else under the archer, his face concealed by a helmet. "The target wasn't supposed to be damaged," he reprimanded his commander.

The other man shrugged. "Not my problem," he replied. "We've got our Ice King, don't we? The little monster can fix himself."

"No, he can't," the woman standing by Loki retorted. The Asgardian's body was almost alarmingly still.

Even with the mask, it was pretty clear the taller man was giving Hawkeye a derisive look. "Didn't you do any of the reading? We can't afford to keep slackers like you around, Agent—"

"Let's get out of here before Ice King is missed," the woman cut her teammate off. She looked at Hawkeye expectantly. This was his op, after all.

The archer gave a curt nod and began barking orders, sounding more like a drill sergeant than an assassin. "Gregg, Evans, Johansson, Renner, you're responsible for loading Ice King. Let's haul out, stat."

They were gone within moments.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's notes:**_ Huzzah, an update! :D During which I learned that Barton is horrible, and jeepers creepers the Neverland boys are people to be feared.

_**Warnings: **_Blood

* * *

"So here you are."

Loki kept his eyes fixed downward, his knees pulled up to his chin. The fingers of his right hand, still retaining an amount of chubbiness, brushed repeatedly over the same patch of grass, first one way, then the other.

Sigyn watched the boy for a moment before sitting beside him, crossing her legs and arranging the folds of her skirt so that only her toes poked out. Loki still wondered why she always wore sandals. The Vanir smiled at her charge. "And what brings you to this remote corner of the gardens, hm?"

"They don't understand," Loki mumbled, hiding his face as tears threatened again. It was already nearing an hour, but every time Loki thought he had himself under control, the dam would burst again. "They're ignorant—" He ripped blades of grass. "—and cruel—" More grass torn. "—and I hate them!" He punched the ground, ignoring the sharp pain it sent up his arm, and turned his face to Sigyn, frustrated tears running down his cheeks. "Is it _always_ going to be like this?"

"People learn, Prince Loki," Sigyn said comfortingly. "It takes time, sometimes an awful lot of it, but they learn."

"_When?_ Thor's never understood why I don't like fight the way he does, and neither do his friends. They say I'm weak. _She_ says I'm cowardly." Loki's shoulders hunched as he hugged his knees closer. "Maybe they're right."

"No." Sigyn's voice was firm, and she slipped a hand underneath to lift Loki's chin, turning his head so they could look into each other's eyes. "Don't ever believe that. There is nothing wrong with you, Prince Loki—you are simply different. And in a realm as stubbornly entrenched in its customs as Asgard, being different is hard."

"Does it ever become easy?"

Sigyn seemed to be remembering something, something that saddened her. She withdrew the hand that had been holding Loki's chin and settled it with its companion on her lap. "No," she said softly, "it never becomes easy. But the burden does grow lighter, Prince Loki, because people do learn. Theoric did."

"Theoric had to learn?" Loki's brow furrowed in confusion. He slowly let his legs down, stretching out to their full length on the grass. "But… Theoric is your huband. He loves you."

"Aye, that he does." Sigyn smiled fondly. "But he had to learn first. I was still a youth when we met. He distrusted me, and frequently scoffed, saying I was a… hm, now what was that he said? Ah yes. I was a shifty Vanir girl trying to do a man's work."

Loki gaped at Sigyn, astonished. "But if he ever said that to you, you'd slap him across the face! You'd slap anyone!"

Sigyn chuckled, stretching her legs out in the same manner as Loki, and she tilted her head back to look up at the sky. It was still as sunny as it had been earlier, and the shade of the tree Loki had been hiding behind was pleasant. Now that they were both quiet, Loki could hear the birds singing again.

"I did slap him," Sigyn recalled. "Many times, over the years. Yet you can see for yourself that he learned, Prince Loki. We both learned. Theoric's lesson was to respect that which is different. My lesson was to be patient with those who do not comprehend."

"I think Thor's lesson may take a long time." Loki was solemn. "When it comes to things that he can't handle with his own strength, he's a slow learner."

"Are you willing to be patient, Prince Loki?" Sigyn asked. "To teach Prince Thor that lesson over and over and over, until he finally figures it out?"

"He's my brother," Loki answered simply. He hummed, thoughtful. "Maybe patience is my lesson, too."

"Maybe." Sigyn looked at Loki for a moment. "But personally, I think your lesson is going to be something different." Loki glanced over at her curiously, perhaps thinking to ask what she meant. Sigyn just smiled. "What would you say to a break from all of this manic palace life, hm?"

"A break?" Loki's interest was immediately caught. Green eyes brightened.

"Theoric's family owns a cabin out in the western mountains. No one is there right now, but I think we have just enough summer left to stay for a while. What do you think, Prince Loki? Shall we go?"

"Oh, can we?" Loki's earlier distress seemed to have been completely forgotten in favor of this promise for time beyond the palace walls. "Can we, Sigyn?"

"Of course we can," Sigyn replied, pleased by her charge's enthusiasm. "But first you must tell your brothers and parents fare-thee-well. I shall prepare everything in the meantime." Loki had already jumped to his feet, and Sigyn gently took hold of the boy's arm before he dashed away. "Most importantly, Prince Loki, you must clear the air between yourself and Sif."

"I will," Loki promised immediately. He started to leave but then paused, turning back around. "Sigyn? Please just call me Loki."

He scampered away. Sigyn smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. Loki was notorious for his wariness towards others, and the fact that he had requested Sigyn to address him with familiarity, as his brother and parents did… it meant a lot. It meant more than that. "That's my little Trickster," the Vanir murmured fondly.

It wouldn't be until they returned that she would find out what Loki had done to Sif's hair.

* * *

Emma slammed into a strange, sturdy little woman on her way out of the apartment she was sharing with her family. She offered a quick apology and moved around her, but the woman caught her by the arm. Her grip made boxers Emma had known seem weak.

"Sheriff Swan, right?" the woman asked. For a moment, Emma could have sworn her eyes glowed. "Bad things have happened tonight."

She released Emma's arm, and the taller woman straightened up, sizing up this stranger with wariness. "How did you know?" Her eyes narrowed. "And who _are_ you?"

"Sandy Faye," the woman answered distractedly. "One of my boys, Peter—Jackson, I mean—he's friends with your son, Henry."

That checked out. Henry had mentioned making some new friends today, and Jackson was one of the names he had used. The other was Matthew. Sandy Faye looked up at Emma, and she was struck by the amount of concern in her eyes. "Please, Sheriff Swan, tell me what that phone call was about. I need to know."

For some reason, Emma found herself telling Faye everything. It was like she had to. "A kid was murdered down by the docks, Billy Brie. Spencer's the one who did it, and he's being brought to the hospital right now. Apparently Loki intervened. I was on my way to the hospital to question them both."

"The king of blood and the prince of ice," Faye murmured. The queer light was back in her eyes, and her expression had turned distant. "The mortal and the sorcerer."

Emma knew she had to leave. Yet she was rooted, unwilling to go. She looked up as the door to her apartment opened again, and David and Mary Margaret came rushing out into the hall. "Granny called," Mary Margaret said, her tones urgent. "The Wolf—Ruby—she's broken out containment."

"What?" Emma stared at her parents incredulously.

David seemed surprised. "The Lucases are werewolves, didn't we tell you that?"

"No. You didn't."

"The Wolf is of no concern, she's far away from the population by now, and the hospital is not where we're going," Faye said flatly. David asked who she was, and Faye didn't bother to answer. She grabbed Emma's arm and started dragging her down the hall. "We need to get to the docks, now. Something terrible has happened tonight, and Billy Brie was only the start of it.

"Billy?" Mary Margaret was running close behind, the same as her husband. "What happened to Billy?"

"There is no _time, Blanchard!_" Faye shouted, spinning around and bristling at the other woman. Emma and David instinctively reached for their sidearms.

"You're precognitive," Mary Margaret realized.

"And it's painful as hell," Faye snapped. It was now that Emma saw the beads of sweat, the slight tremor in Faye's hands. "Now let's go!"

The royals and their daughter followed her as she ran down the hall. It was hard to keep pace with the little woman. Faye started barking orders for Emma and Mary Margaret to head for one vehicle while she and David took the truck.

"Why the truck? Um, I don't have a ramp for—" David's eyes widened as Faye picked up her motorcycle and set it down on the truck bed. "You're not exactly human, are you?"

"What, the precog thing didn't tip you off?" Faye put the kickstand back down and told David to take the lead. His family would follow. The truck came growling to life, and Sandy held her motorcycle steady as they started to move. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone, selecting the contact labeled _Den._ It was time to bring her boys into this.

* * *

The boys nearly ran over each other in their mad rush for the phone ringing downstairs. Even Thurston seemed to understand what was going on, and that was more than could be said for Matthew. The Twins got there first, as always, and they picked the phone up to toss it to Jackson. It sprang back and nearly hit Benton in the face due to the cord attaching it to the stand. This brought his brother plenty of amusement.

Thurston was the one who remembered to turn on the lights. Jackson crossed the room and took the phone, holding it up to his ear. "Tink? Yeah, it's me. Who'd ya think I was, Fio?"

Matthew could see the humor in that. Wakahisa was a distinctive, rough voice that could be mistaken for no one else's. Jackson waited as he listened to Miss Sandy, his fingers drumming impatiently on his leg. The playful expression on his face dropped with alarming speed.

"You're sure? Aw, man. Yes'm, I understand. Of course you can count on us, whaddaya think we're here for? Fio will give you the call once we've finished. Yes'm. See ya."

Jackson almost slammed the phone back down. His breathing was ragged, and he took a few seconds to steady himself. "Bad air, bad air," he muttered. "Tink's got barely of her power here, the fact that she can sense all this nasty so strongly…"

"Who's in trouble?" Matthew asked.

Jackson shook his head. "We don't know. It's not the kid who was murdered tonight. It's not the guy who murdered him. But Tink's on her way to figure it out right now. We have a different job to do."

"Which is?" Wakahisa prompted.

"Find Red Riding Hood's hood," Jackson answered. "Apparently it's what keeps our friend Ruby Lucas from turning into a werewolf every full moon. Right now it's missing, and Tink thinks the first place to look is tonight's murderer, old man Spencer. Fio, how are your hotwiring skills lately?"

"You have to ask?" Wakahisa snorted.

Jackson nodded, satisfied by this response. "Good. We'll borrow Mr. Hoof's car again. Let's go, boys."

They left the apartment. Jackson stayed back to lock the door, and Matthew stuck with him. As the older boy pocketed the key, Matthew started talking. "Albert Spencer isn't a guy to mess around with."

"Neither is Fio." Jackson turned and started walking down the hall. The other boys were gone by this point, probably already outside.

Matthew followed. "Wakahisa isn't a scary enough guy to rattle someone like Spencer," he insisted. "Not even Mr. Gold freaks him out."

"It'll be a different story in a couple more minutes."

Matthew didn't like the sound of that. He also didn't like how sad Jackson sounded about it. It wasn't like his friend to be so quiet. "What do you mean by that?"

"You'll see. Come on, let's catch up." He pulled open the door to the stairwell, and they ran down the steps in silence. It felt even colder to Matthew when they got back outside. He shivered, watching as his breath clouded up in the air.

Wakahisa had already gotten the door to Mr. Hoof's car open, and he was currently pulling out the wires he needed to jolt the vehicle awake. Thurston was clearing junk out of the back seats and into the trunk. The Twins were pacing around. It seemed to Matthew that they constantly had too much energy to contain.

"So, Peter," Wakahisa said as he exposed the ends of a fistful of wires. "This kid Spencer killed. Who was he?"

This was sooner than a couple of minutes. Matthew could see that Jackson had also been hoping that this question wouldn't come yet. The boy's silence made Wakahisa look over. He didn't say anything either, his eyes slowly narrowing as he waited. The Twins stopped pacing, hands stuffed in the pockets of their striped pajamas. Thurston was the only one still moving.

"Billy," Jackson said at last, his voice soft as he kept his gaze fixed on the pavement. "The kid's name was Billy Brie."

The wires fell from Wakahisa's hands, sparking as they hit each other. Thurston noticed the movement and realized that something strange was going on. Benton pulled his hands from his pockets to explain.

"Keep hotwiring, Fio."

Wakahisa's face had completely lost the hardened appearance Matthew had already started associating it with. He was disbelieving, shocked, horrified. "Billy?" he whispered.

"Finish hotwiring the car, Rufio," Jackson said flatly. There was no sign of the hesitance or sadness he had shown before. Matthew was nearly frightened by this heartless creature standing in his friend's place. "We have a job to do."

Wakahisa stared at Jackson. His jaw clenched, face hardening into an expression that seemed to be crafted of steel, and in another second he had the car running. "Get in," he barked.

Thurston, Matthew, and the Twins squeezed into the back, Benton stacked on top of Thurston. Jackson took the navigator's seat, across from Wakahisa. The crowded little space was silent, except for the rough hum of the car's engine.

"You were never planning on telling me, were you." Wakahisa was unnaturally quiet. Matthew thought this was the angriest he had ever heard him.

Jackson kept staring straight ahead. "Drive."

Wakahisa grabbed the stick, changing gears, and the car tore out on the street.

* * *

Barton had to admit he was fascinated, albeit in a strange and apprehensive way. He couldn't stop staring at the unconscious figure pinned to the opposite side of the truck with thick bars of steel. A god brought low. The stories always made it sound so much more poetic than the reality.

Blood had already formed a puddle on the floor below Loki. The vehicle reeked of it, but no one here was unaccustomed to stench of spilled blood. Some here even enjoyed it. The archer didn't count himself among their number, but he wouldn't deny that this mission brought a particular sense of satisfaction. It couldn't be more perfect if he wanted it to be.

Loki's breath was unsteady, and almost seemed to gargle. Considering his durability in New York, Barton would have expected his wounds to have healed by now. Did this have something to do with what Agent Ackerman had said about him not being able to fix himself?

The tats were new. Barton wondered briefly what the significance was—with Loki, it had to mean something. He was that sort of guy.

"What do you _mean_ we're out of gas?!"

Barton glanced away from Loki at the sound of his teammate's irate exclamation. Agent Ackerman appeared to be fully prepared to strangle the driver.

"I mean just that," Agent Samuel replied. The armored truck sputtered to a halt, lurching slightly. Gregg had to keep his foot firmly on the brake since they were on a hill. "The tank is completely empty. You'll have to push Nikki the last two blocks to the gas station."

"Nikki?" Renner echoed.

Samuel gave him a look. "You got a problem with me naming my girl, son?"

Renner assured him that no, he didn't. Barton ordered everybody out of the truck, and together they started pushing the vehicle towards the local gas station. For a moment, he thought he heard Ackerman mutter _bad air_ under her breath.

* * *

Nolan parked his pickup truck beside the dock, as Sandy ordered him to. Emma frowned as she looked around. "This is definitely the address I was given, but…" She shook her head. "They said there was a tow truck here. And Spencer's car."

Sandy hopped out of the back of Nolan's truck, and nearly gagged as her nostrils were flooded with the stench of blood. The place looked clean, but…

"I've found something." It was Blanchard who called this. She was out on one of docks, crouch at a dark puddle. Sandy already knew what it was. "It's cold," Blanchard said in surprise. "Like it should be frozen."

"It's Loki's," Sandy said certainly. "I had thought there was something wintry about him." She looked up, shivering. While the boost provided by the full moon had always proven useful in the past, now that she had barely any magic, it hurt more than anything. It felt like ants were crawling under her skin. The fogginess inside her head, pierced only by a sense of danger, was frightening. She was supposed to be faster than this.

"We have to go," the fairy muttered. "We got here too late."

The humans didn't hear her. The air in this place was thick and rotten with the murder that had been committed, Sandy was on the verge of choking. There something else here too, something that she was missing, but moon-instinct was pounding inside her skull, screaming _go! go!_

It was Nolan who found the arrow embedded in the dock. It was made of materials that could be found nowhere in Storybrooke, and finally the pieces fell together. Everyone knew that there were no strangers in Storybrooke, but now that the Curse was broken, strangers had come. Someone, Sandy knew not who, had entered from the outside and taken Loki.

"Spencer must have laid a trap for him," Nolan said. "And Loki walked right into it."

"We have to get to the border before they do," Blanchard declared.

"And then what?" Sheriff Swan was skeptical.

"I don't know, something!"

They realized that Sandy was already leaving, climbing up into the bed of Nolan's truck. The fairy turned and looked at both of them seriously. "I don't care if you come with me or not," she told them. "But Tom Hemming means the world to Peter's best friend, and like hell I'm going to let these outsiders get away with him."

"Then let's go," Nolan replied.

* * *

Getting into the hospital was easy. Getting to Spencer's room was easy. What wasn't easy was the feeling churning in Matthew's stomach. He, Jackson, and the rest of the boys stood in the hallway outside of Spencer's room, fortunately absent of hospital staff at the moment.

"Okay," said Jackson, signing simultaneously. "I'm taking Mowg with me. Fio, Thurs, you guys do your thing. Twins, make sure they're not interrupted. We'll meet outside the west entrance in five minutes."

Wakahisa nodded, opening Spencer's door and slipping inside. Jackson signaled for Thurston's attention, and Benton and Fenton turned away so they could sign privately. _Make sure he doesn't kill him._

_Kelsey is stronger than me._

_No, he isn't._ Jackson grabbed Matthew and drug him along to the nearest stairwell and straight down. Thurston went in after Wakahisa, while Benton and Fenton split up to act as lookouts.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up!" Matthew twisted out of Jackson's grip with relative ease. He had more stamina than the other boy, who was already stressed as it was. "Where exactly are we going? And what did you say to Thurston?"

"I asked him to take care of something. And we're headed to the morgue."

"Morgue?" Matthew squeaked as he repeated the word. "As in dead bodies? No, Jackson." He took several steps back up, clutching the iron railing. "I can't do that."

"You've seen plenty of dead bodies before," Jackson pointed out. He seemed puzzled. "Those never bothered you." Matthew tried to stammer out an exclamation, but Jackson's expression changed, and he could see that his friend finally understood. "This place has you really freaked out, doesn't it?"

"I can smell it." Matthew shivered. "Death. Fear. Yeah, freaked out is a pretty accurate way to put it."

"Okay. Okay, Mowg. You just wait here for me. I'll be back in two minutes."

Matthew nodded. He wanted to ask why Jackson was heading down to the morgue in the first place, but fear was a way of making speech difficult. He sat down on the steps and waited. Two minutes wasn't very long. He could manage that.

The boy found himself thinking of his conversation with Mr. Hemming that morning, of how he had sulkily agreed to come with him to the hospital on Saturday. Saturday was right now, wasn't it? That girl, Madge. She was somewhere in this freaky place. Matthew wondered where.

True to his word, Jackson returned after two minutes. "I think I just met Dracula," he remarked. Matthew could tell he was trying to lighten up the mood. "He's a pretty cool guy. We agreed to swap stories over billiards next Friday. Now if only I could remember how billiards is played…"

"What did you go down there for?" Matthew asked.

Jackson's expression turned grim. "I went to see Billy Brie. I already knew Spencer was a bad one, but… that guy's not even human anymore. Wakahisa and Thurston had better not go easy on him." He shook his head. Matthew decided to say nothing of the bloodlust he had seen in his friend's eyes. At least, not yet.

Jackson realized that the five minutes were nearly up, and he and Matthew raced up the stairs and headed for the west entrance. Thurston and Wakahisa were waiting for them outside. Benton and Fenton joined them a moment later, having gone back in to raid a snack machine. They both had nut bars, Benton's with chocolate and Fenton's with peanut butter.

"The hood's in the trunk of Spencer's car." Wakahisa was already preparing to hotwire again. "It's parked down by the docks."

"The docks? That's where Tink said she was going. Fio, toss me your phone."

Wakahisa dug it out and threw it to Jackson, much harder than he needed to. Matthew could see that there was going to be a lot of tension between them for a while. Jackson separated himself from the group, pacing in the parking lot while he waited for Miss Sandy to pick up.

The Twins moseyed around too, munching on their snack bars. It seemed that they had thought to purchase one for Thurston as well. He had pulled back the wrapper and was nibbling on a bar of oats and raisons.

As for Matthew, he found himself going over to Wakahisa. He thought it was strange that everyone was leaving him all alone, especially since Billy Brie had been someone important to him. It wasn't how things had been done in the pack, that was for sure.

Wakahisa had pulled the wires out in preparation, and he was sitting in the driver's seat with his legs hanging out the side of the vehicle, waiting. He glanced up at Matthew. "You worried?"

"Yeah," Matthew replied.

He didn't expect Wakahisa to say anything else. Yet, that was exactly what he did. "Billy is—was—a close friend of mine." Wakahisa was staring down at the worn concrete under his boots, his fingers curling more and more tightly into fists. "I owe him a lot. Teaching me to drive, for one. Once I was legally old enough, I was going to work with him. He's… he's helped me through a bunch of stuff. Wakahisa's had it pretty crappy, too.

"And King George did _this_ to him." Wakahisa's expression was dark, full of rage and pain. The parking lot lights reflected off his tears. "I'd kill that old man, but he doesn't deserve to get out so easy. Your Mr. Hemming did land a good one on him, though."

"He did?"

"He threw a knife, and it severed the spinal cord or some such. King George can't move anything below his arms. Think it was luck, or a good eye?"

Matthew didn't know how to reply. The thought of Mr. Hemming hurting people was so bizarre to him, although only three weeks ago the librarian had tried to kill him multiple times, and before that there was what he had done to Manhattan. It was just so difficult to imagine the Mr. Hemming he had been goofing around with this morning could be the same person with the power to take any number of lives he chose.

Jackson came over, returning Wakahisa's phone. "Tink isn't picking up," he informed them. "We'll have to drive down to the docks and meet her there."

Wakahisa nodded, and a moment later the car's engine started growling. Benton and Fenton clapped Thurston's shoulders, to the older lad's irritation, and the three of them came climbing into the vehicle last.

* * *

Barton knew the moment Agent Samuel's beloved Nikki was refueled, they would be peeling out of here like bats outta hell. They were going to have a very long drive ahead of them, so that meant filling the truck's tank to full capacity. Odd how such a fuel-efficient vehicle could have run out of gas so quickly.

The archer loitered outside the truck with Agents Renner and Johansson, watching the road. He kept moving, crossing from one end of the lot to the other. It was eerie, seeing no vehicles on the road. That wolf kept howling, wherever it was. It didn't sound like there was more than one. Barton added that to the list of things that were weird about this town.

Barton slowed, then stumbled to a halt as he became increasingly aware of pain, from his leg to his shoulder. He curled in on himself instinctively, clutching his head as his vision seemed to swim. Johansson was the first to notice something was wrong, walking and then running towards him.

"Barton!" Ackerman snapped his name from inside the truck. When he didn't come, she left the interior to find out way, and saw Renner and Johansson carefully lowering him to the ground.

"He's been hit," Johansson told her.

"Deep," Renner added. He ran for the armored truck to get medical supplies. Johansson gently laid Barton out on his back, pulling the fabric back from his wounds.

Ackerman cursed. "Barton, why the hell didn't you say something?"

"Didn't realize I'd been hit," Barton grunted. Some of that blood he had been smelling earlier was his own. Man, that made him feel stupid. "The adrenaline must have only started to wear off just now." He chuckled wryly. "I guess Ice King in there has me more nervous than I thought."

"You idiot," Ackerman fumed. "You could have left a blood trail!"

Renner returned with the medical kit. Barton didn't really notice, he was too angry with Ackerman. "You think I want us to be found? You have no idea what Loki's actions have done to me, AckerAHH!" His head would have rammed against the asphalt if Johansson's legs hadn't been in the way. "Johansson, warn me before you start yanking knives out of things!"

"That was Renner," Johansson said, unfazed by her superior's attitude. "We need to get this done as quickly as possible, sir, so please don't try to talk anymore."

Barton muttered a few expletives, but he knew she was right. Ackerman stood overhead, teeth gritted angrily as she waited. Johansson and Renner worked as a long-familiar team, removing the blades, cleaning out the wounds, and bandaging them up. It took less than two minutes. In total there were three knives, small things that would only cause fatal damage with pinpoint precision. Good thing Loki had already been injured when he had thrown these.

"Get Barton in the truck," Ackerman ordered. "We're pulling out now."

Renner and Johansson exchanged looks. Obviously they were puzzling over the fact that this was Barton's operation, and not Ackerman's. "Just do it," Barton told them. "It's time to go."

Agent Samuel protested, of course. "We don't have nearly enough fuel, and I think Nikki is leaking somewhere—"

"DRIVE!"

Everyone cringed at the roar issuing from the tiny woman who was Lilith Ackerman. Samuel slammed his door shut, and the armored truck went tearing out of the gas station. Renner and Johansson worked on getting a better job done with Barton's bandages. Ackerman paced inside the truck, glaring at the heavily sedated Loki with a level of hatred Barton found slightly terrifying. The other agents remained nervously seated.

A few minutes later, the truck began to slow. "We have a problem," Agent Gregg called back. "Looks like we're not taking Ice King out of here without another fight."


End file.
